Digging up My Bones

I, of course, didn't show up within the three-day deadline he gave me.

Samuel returned once more to the gate of my humble abode.

Toby circled Samuel excitedly. He slipped his tiny, transparent hand into Samuel's hand that was hanging at his side.

He turned back joyfully and shouted to me, "Mommy, I'm finally holding Daddy's hand!"

My eyes stung, and I looked back at him with a forced smile.

Over the years, Samuel had always believed that Toby was Daniel's child. He loathed him and refused to even spare him a glance.

Although I had done a paternity test that confirmed they were biologically father and son, he still refused to believe it. He vehemently claimed I had paid someone to fake the results.

After that terrible night, I had lost all his trust.

I had asked him for a divorce, wanting to put an end to our toxic relationship.

But he only glared at me with venom in his eyes and spat, "Kristen, I want you to remember this—you owe me one for the rest of your life. I told you that this grudge won't end until one of us dies.

"As for divorce, don't even think about it!"

He brought countless women home to spend the night and flaunt his intimacy with them in front of me. Whenever I argued with him, he would sneer and remind me how dirty I was when I slept with Daniel.

This went on until Violet returned to the country. From the moment she came back into his life, he cut off all contact with those other women. Subsequently, the two of them flaunted their relationship openly. Even his business partners referred to Violet as "Mrs. Hoffman."

My thoughts drifted back to the present.

I watched as Samuel stood at the gate and called me. The monotonous voice on the other end informed him that the number was no longer in service.

He frowned and opened our WhatsApp chat. The only thing he saw was the last message he had sent me three days ago, urging me to come forward to provide my bone marrow to Violet.

I hadn't replied, of course.

Samuel turned to Facebook next. When he saw a photo I had posted four years ago, his hand froze for a moment. It was a photo I had secretly taken—he was sitting on the couch, with two-year-old Toby clinging to his arm and resting his adorable little head on his shoulder.

I had thought it was a beautiful moment, so I snapped a photo. But in the next second, Samuel had pushed Toby away in disgust.

He enlarged the photo and stared at it for a long time before returning to the chat window.

Then, he typed a message: "Kristen, you brought this on yourself. The three-day deadline is up. Starting today, I won't send you a single cent for your living expenses."

After waiting for a reply and getting none, he kicked the gate hard in frustration.

Toby, who had been happily holding onto Samuel and running in circles around him, was terrified by the sudden aggression. He quivered and burst into tears as he ran into my arms.

"Mommy, what's wrong with Daddy? I'm scared…"

I held him tightly and comforted him. "Don't be scared, Toby. Daddy can't hurt you anymore. Look, there are butterflies over there. Do you want to go play with them?"

I said that to distract him.

Toby turned his head and saw a few butterflies fluttering in the distance. His tears stopped, and he quickly wiped his face before running after the butterflies with a smile.

Meanwhile, Samuel only grew more agitated after kicking the gate twice.

He rubbed his temples repeatedly. Then, he took out his phone and made a call. "Hello, is this the locksmith?"