He Poisoned Me for His Secret Son,Now I Want Out

"Forget that dead-end job. Just quit—I'll take care of you, okay?"

A chill spread from somewhere deep in my chest. I couldn't feel his warmth anymore.

A sudden ringtone shattered the eerie silence between us.

It was Herbert.

"Uncle, my mommy just fainted! She's at the hospital, and I don't have anywhere to go, and I haven't eaten, and I'm so hungry..."

The boy's tearful little voice sent Herman into a tailspin.

His brow furrowed.

"Don't be scared. I'm coming to get you right now!"

He was already moving—shoes on the wrong feet, a shirt snatched off the back of a chair—and then he was out the door.

He didn't look back until he was already in the hallway.

"Something came up with the kid. I need to go handle it."

Not long after he left, a new post appeared on Janet's social media. The photo had a hospital room in the background.

The caption read: Rare family time. Someone's cooking is as amazing as ever.

In the picture, Herman and Herbert sat side by side at the edge of the hospital bed, feeding her. Another shot showed Herman's back as he stood at a counter, chopping vegetables, preparing a meal.

So this was what he meant by "no feelings."

Cold-faced, yet doing everything a husband would do.

I laughed bitterly and turned off my phone.

Before long, Herman came back with Herbert in tow.

"Her condition flared up again. He's staying with us tonight."

Herbert stood timidly behind him.

The boy had stayed with me plenty of times before, using the excuse that he had nowhere else to go. But he'd never warmed up to me. Not once.

I used to wonder why he kept his distance.

Now I understood. There had always been a reason.

I pressed a hand against my lower abdomen, where a dull ache was pulling downward, and tested the waters.

"I'm not feeling great tonight either. Maybe you could—"

I didn't even finish before his brows snapped together.

"You're a kindergarten teacher. Do you refuse to look after your students at school every time you feel a little under the weather?"

The self-righteous look on his face hit me like a wall. In that instant, I could see exactly what my life would look like after adopting Herbert—the moment anything fell short of their expectations, this was the treatment I'd get.

I smiled, though there was nothing behind it but mockery aimed at myself.

Herman must have caught something in my expression, because he realized his tone had been too harsh. He lowered his voice.

"Sorry. Her mother was being difficult earlier, and I've been angry the whole drive back. I didn't rein it in."

There was a time when the slightest hint that I wasn't feeling well would've sent him into a panic. He would've hovered, refused to let me lift a finger.

Now he'd forgotten my cycle entirely. My discomfort didn't even register.

I said nothing and went back to the bedroom alone.

I hadn't been lying down long when a sharp crash came from the living room.

I rushed out. A layer of dark ash dusted the floor.

Herbert was still holding the lid of the urn. The body of it lay shattered across the tiles.

My eyes burned red in an instant.

"Who told you to go through my things?!"

He froze where he stood, startled by my outburst.

I snatched the lid from his hands and crouched down, reaching for the scattered ashes. That was when I heard a loud thud beside me.

He was on the floor, wailing like his life depended on it.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! Please don't hit me!"

I frowned and reached toward him to help him up, but his arms and legs flailed wildly, and one small foot connected squarely with my stomach.

The pain doubled me over. I lost my balance and hit the ground, shards slicing into my palms. Blood welled up instantly.

"What's going on?"

Herman emerged from the bedroom, and his eyes swept over both of us sprawled on the floor.

I reached out a hand, about to explain, but he stepped right past me and scooped up the sobbing, hiccupping Herbert.

"She hit me..."

Herman's brow furrowed. He didn't so much as glance at my ashen face.

"I get that you don't like him, but was hitting him really necessary?"

I gritted my teeth against the pain and pointed at the ashes on the floor, stained red with my blood.

"I didn't touch him. I came out and found he'd smashed Biscuit's urn. All I did was take the lid out of his hand."