My Husband Killed Our Son to Let His Mistress's Son Live

The fire crackled in the backyard, hungry flames eating away at the pile of things I’d dragged out from the house. Every wedding photo, every framed smile, every little memento Nathan had ever pretended meant something to us — gone.

I was tossing the last of the albums onto the fire when I heard the crunch of tires on the gravel. The sound of a car door slamming. Footsteps.

“What the hell is going on here?” Nathan’s voice was sharp. His eyes darted from the fire to me, then to the heap of half-burned things. “Why are you burning our stuff and what’s with the donation boxes outside?”

“For charity,” I said flatly, my gaze fixed on the flames. “For a change. I just… want to move on.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard by my tone. “Move on? From what?” He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “Wait—” His gaze snagged on something in the pile. “Is that… our wedding photos?” His voice sharpened. “Why the hell are you throwing those away?”

“Nothing,” I said, walking past him toward the side gate.

Nathan’s hand shot out, catching my arm. “Nothing? Jasmine, wait. Hold on, what’s wrong with you? Why are you suddenly cold to me? Is this… is this about the baby?” His voice dropped. “Or is it because I didn’t come back to the hospital that night?”

I turned my head, meeting his gaze without a single tear in my eyes.

“I was busy,” he said quickly, almost tripping over his words. “You know I was working on a project. The project. The one I’ve been planning for months. You even helped me with it.” His tone softened, almost coaxing. “So you’re going to come with me to the presentation, right?”

“No.”

He froze, his grip on my arm tightening. “What?”

“I said no.”

His voice turned harsh. “You’re my architect, Jasmine. My partner on this. You can’t just—”

“I don’t want to.”

For a heartbeat, there was silence — the kind that teeters on the edge of breaking. Then it shattered.

His hand moved faster than my breath. The slap rang in my ears. My head snapped to the side, heat blooming across my cheek.

For a second, I just stood there, stunned. He’d never… not once in five years…

I remembered his promise on our wedding night, whispered in the dark: I will never hurt you, Jasmine.

The promise was gone now. His own eyes widened like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done. “I— I’m sorry. I was just—busy, stressed—”

I stepped back, my skin burning where his hand had landed. I didn’t want to hear it.

I turned to leave.

That’s when I heard it — a scream from inside the house.

“Help! Somebody help me!”

Carrie. Nathan’s expression shifted in an instant. He bolted past me without another word, rushing into the kitchen. I followed slowly, every muscle stiff.

She was on the floor, holding her arm, eyes wide in feigned panic.

“Oh my God, Carrie,” Nathan gasped, kneeling beside her. “What happened?”

She sniffled, glancing toward me. “I… I slipped.”

Nathan’s head whipped toward me. “What the hell is this?”

“I was cleaning the floor,” I said evenly.

“Cleaning?” His voice rose. “Look what you’ve done! She slipped! If something happens to her, you’ll pay!”

I clenched my fists. “You think I wanted to hurt my own half-sister? I didn’t even know she was gonna be here.”

But he didn’t listen. He didn’t care.

His glare could have set me on fire. “This is your fault.”

And then another slap. Harder.

He scooped Carrie into his arms and stormed past me, muttering under his breath, heading straight for the car. Seconds later, the engine roared to life, and they were gone.

That night, I sat in my room, a single candle flickering in front of me. I’d lit it for the baby we’d lost. My hands were steady as I adjusted the frame beside it — the sonogram photo, creased from being hidden away.

The door creaked open.

Carrie stepped inside, holding a bouquet of white lilies.

“For your baby,” she said softly, setting them on the table. Her voice was laced with syrup, thick and sticky. “I’m sorry for what happened earlier. And… for leaving before. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You know that. I’m sorry if you have to marry him on my behalf.”

She moved closer, wrapping her arms around me. I stood stiff in her embrace, my skin crawling.

Her lips brushed my ear. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“But now that I’m here with our baby… you’d better leave. Now.”

The words were a knife, and she twisted them with a smile.

I jerked away, my jaw tight, but she gasped, like I’d shoved her, and clutched her arm dramatically.

“Oh! You hurt me—”

Her elbow caught the edge of the candle. The hot wax splattered against my hand, the small flame licking up the tablecloth. I hissed, pulling back.

Carrie’s voice rose in a panicked wail. “I’m sorry! Please, sister, don’t hurt me! I just want to be close to you again! I don’t plan on stealing Nathan back, I promise!”

The door slammed open. Nathan stood there, his gaze darting from me to the candle to Carrie, tears brimming in her eyes.

“What the hell is going on?”

“She—” I started.

“She burned me!” Carrie sobbed, showing her unmarked arm. “I just wanted to apologize—”

“She’s lying!” My voice shook with rage.

Nathan didn’t even hesitate. His face hardened. “Lock her in the basement.”

Two of the house staff appeared from behind him, their eyes downcast as they took my arms. I struggled, kicking, shouting his name.

“Nathan! Listen to me! She’s lying! She—”

The basement door loomed ahead. Cold air hit my skin as it creaked open.

“But wait…” Carrie’s voice floated through the doorway, sickly sweet with mock concern. “She’s your wife, Nathan. Don’t do that, I forgive her…”

His reply was ice. “Not tonight. Tonight, she’s nothing.”

The door slammed shut, plunging me into darkness.