Guilty Hearts The Scumbags Original Sin

I waited.

And waited.

No reply came.

A bitter smile twisted my lips as fresh tears dripped onto the page.

Of course he didn't believe me. He was me, twelve years ago.

How could I not understand him?

He was an eighteen-year-old boy who thought a crush was destiny. Who believed love was an unbreakable vow. Amy Ware was the center of his universe—the girl he'd sworn to protect with everything he had.

If he gave up just because a stranger scribbled a few discouraging words in his notebook, he wouldn't be Dominic Delgado.

I clutched the diary to my chest and curled into a tight ball on the cold floor.

When Amy was still alive, she used to fall asleep like this. Defensive. Lonely.

I didn't know how much time passed before a cacophony of voices dragged me back. The front door banged open.

My mother. My younger sister.

"Where is your brother? The lights are on, but the place is silent."

"Hurry up. Pack up all that jinx's trash and throw it out. Keeping a dead person's things is bad luck."

"I need to get Vivi moved in ASAP. Then I can finally hold a grandson. That useless woman—married four years and couldn't pop out a son or a daughter. Good riddance. At least now we have space."

They barged into the master bedroom. My sister yelped when she spotted me on the floor.

"Brother? You're home? You... you didn't hear anything, did you?"

She recovered fast, sliding on a mask of concern. "Sister-in-law is gone, so Mom and I came to help you tidy up. We were afraid seeing her things would upset you. Don't misunderstand."

I looked at them—the two women who were supposed to be my family. Guilt flushed their faces, but their eyes held no remorse.

A cold realization settled into my gut.

*So this is how they treated Amy when I wasn't around.*

During our four years of marriage, Amy had asked—begged—to live separately from them.

And what did I do?

I scolded her. Called her petty. Told her she was intolerant and unfilial.

My father died young. My mother raised my sister and me alone. I felt I owed her everything. So after marrying Amy, I moved my mother and sister in. Four people under one roof.

In front of me, my mother treated Amy like a princess. Better than her own daughter. The best food, the best clothes. Never let her lift a finger.

Amy tried to tell me it was all an act.

Tears in her eyes, she told me the moment I left for work, my mother would treat her like a servant—piling chores on her, mocking her for being a "hen that couldn't lay eggs."

Every time she brought it up, I shut her down. I was impatient. I didn't want to hear it.

Eventually, Amy stopped talking.

Deep down, didn't I know what my mother was like?

Of course I did.

But I was busy. I was the man of the house. I didn't have time for "trivial domestic squabbles." My mother had suffered her whole life—why couldn't Amy just yield a little?

*Heh.*

I wasn't just a bad husband.

I was scum.

Slowly, I rose to my feet. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet as I fixed a glacial stare on them.

"Vivi and I are finished. She isn't moving in. And you won't be holding a grandson."

My voice came out dead calm.

"The one who can't have children isn't Amy. It's me."

My mother's gasp echoed off the walls.

"Find a new place to live. Didn't I buy you a condo across town? Move there."

"This is Amy's home. Mine and hers. If a single item of hers goes missing, I will hold you personally responsible."

My mother swayed, clutching her chest. My sister barely caught her before she crumpled.

"What... what did you say?" Her voice climbed to a shriek. "How can a man be unable to have children? It's clearly that jinx's fault!"

"And you want me to move out? I gave birth to you! Now that you're successful, you want to toss your own mother aside?"

"What do you mean 'yours and hers'? A home without a mother isn't a home!"

I looked at her.

Really looked at her.

And felt nothing but a vast, desolate emptiness.