His Mistress Killed Our Daughter

The window was wide open, beckoning me to enter the house. I didn't hesitate; I climbed through.

Inside, Celia was poised to pour boiling water on Maisy, while Malcolm sat in the living room, lost in his phone.

"No!" I yelled, lunging forward to push Celia aside. The scalding water splashed onto me, searing my skin instantly. But the pain was nothing compared to my urgent need to protect Maisy. I hugged her tightly, cradling her in my arms.

"Emberly, have you lost it?" Malcolm rushed over, his first concern was for Celia. He missed the needles in my leg and the angry red burns on my skin.

The physical pain was trivial beside the ache in my heart. Malcolm's reflex was always to side with Celia over me. I remember on a holiday when we ran into a stray dog—he pulled Celia into the car first. Or the time a storm hit, and both our daughters became feverish. I begged him to take us to the hospital, but he insisted on staying by Celia's side.

With Maisy in my arms, I started to leave. Only then did Malcolm notice my injuries. He frowned. "What happened? Why do you have so many needles? And why's your skin so red?"

Celia sobbed. "I'm so sorry, it's all my fault."

"I was just trying to mix some cold water in the tub for Maisy's bath," she explained, tears streaming. "I didn't expect Emberly to burst in and shove me, making the boiling water spill onto her."

"Have you lost your mind, Emberly Jenkins?" Malcolm's voice was icy. "Just because I said you couldn't take Maisy, you climbed in through a window."

Each word pierced me, but I stayed silent. My only thought was to get Maisy out of there.

Malcolm grabbed my arm. "I'll take you to the hospital."

I glanced at the red marks on his neck and the couch where his clothes lay. "There's no need," I said quietly.

I sidestepped him and headed for the door. Celia followed, saying, "Emberly, you should really see a doctor. I'm worried about your mental state. I know a good therapist; maybe you should talk to them."

As I was about to decline, Malcolm came over, pulling me along. "You need to go to the hospital. If you're having mental issues, I can't trust you with the kids."

He practically dragged me to the car, oblivious to the needles in my leg snagging painfully. My heart grew colder.

I should have realized long ago that Malcolm had changed, maybe when Celia returned from abroad and they had secret dinners. Or when Celia lost her child, and he insisted on taking Maisy away from me repeatedly.

But none of that mattered anymore. All I cared about now was looking after my two daughters.