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

The basement smelled of damp concrete and rot. The moment the bolt slid shut, darkness swallowed me whole—thick, suffocating darkness that pressed in on all sides.

I hated the dark. Nathan knew that. Everyone in this house knew that.

My breathing turned ragged, my chest tightening with each second. I pressed my hands against the cold floor, feeling grit under my palms. A sudden movement made me freeze—then the sickening skitter of tiny legs across my bare ankle. My stomach lurched.

“Please… no,” I whispered to myself, curling my knees up and hugging them tight. But the cockroaches kept moving, brushing against my skin, their faint tapping against the walls echoing in the blackness.

This was the first time I had truly seen Nathan for what he was. There was no more illusion. No more pretending. This was not the man I married, the man I thought would protect me. This was someone who could throw me into my deepest fear without a flicker of hesitation… and walk away.

Tears streamed hot down my cheeks. I tried to wipe them, but my hands trembled so violently they only smeared the wetness across my face.

I didn’t know when I finally drifted into an uneasy sleep—my head against the wall, my arms aching from holding myself so tightly.

When I woke, the light from above stabbed into my eyes. The door creaked open and a silhouette appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Jasmine,” a familiar voice said softly.

It was Rebecca. My mother-in-law.

She hurried down the steps and crouched in front of me, her eyes darting over my face, my tangled hair, my dirty clothes. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “What have they done to you?”

I swallowed hard, trying to speak, but my throat felt raw.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice trembling. “I shouldn’t have let this happen. I… I didn’t know they’d really lock you in here.”

Her hand brushed my forehead. She frowned. “You’re burning up.”

The world tilted, heat rolling through me like a fever, and before I could reply, the darkness came again—thicker, heavier.

When I woke next, I was in my room. My head throbbed, but I could hear voices outside the door.

Rebecca again—her voice sharp, angry. “Are you insane, Nathan? You treat your wife like this? I thought you needed her! Tomorrow is your big presentation. What if she refuses to go because you’re too busy parading your attention all over Carrie?”

Her words stabbed deep, each one another reminder that betrayal wasn’t just a wound—it was a constant, festering ache.

Nathan’s voice was low but defensive. “You don’t understand, Mom. I’m stressed. This project—”

“This project won’t matter if she walks out,” Rebecca snapped. “You’ve already made her doubt her place in this house. And you—” her voice dipped lower—“you’re showing far too much interest in Carrie.”

I closed my eyes. Even his mother saw it. And yet… she still stayed silent about the worst truth of all.

Tomorrow, I told myself. Tomorrow, I’m leaving.

When Rebecca finally came into my room, she wore a look of forced calm. “You should rest,” she said gently, setting a tray of food on the table. “I’m sorry for what happened. It won’t happen again.”

I smiled faintly, pretending gratitude. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

Not long after, Nathan came in. His expression was tight, his eyes scanning me like he was measuring my mood. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “You didn’t deserve any of that. I was just… stressed. The project’s been eating me alive.”

He sat at the edge of the bed, his hand brushing over mine. “You’ll still come tomorrow, right? We’re presenting together—you promised.”

I hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”

He smiled faintly, kissed my forehead, and left.

Later, I printed the document I had been waiting for. When Nathan came back, fussing over Carrie in the living room—because she was, once again, faking being sick—I approached with the papers.

Carrie turned to me with that sweet-sour smile of hers. “I’m sorry, Jasmine. I was really sick today. Thank you for letting Nathan take care of me. I hope you’re feeling better too.”

I ignored her entirely and handed the papers to Nathan. “Sign this. It’s for tomorrow’s presentation.”

He didn’t even look—just scribbled his signature and handed it back before turning back to Carrie. “You should rest,” he murmured to her.

My jaw clenched. I went back to my room and locked the door.

That’s when my phone buzzed.

A message from Jameson: Everything’s ready. I already stole the client. Tomorrow, I’ll see you.

For the first time in weeks, I lay down and actually slept.

When the morning light came, I was almost at peace.

Until the pounding on the door started.

I opened it to find two police officers waiting in the hall.

“Mrs. Jasmine?” one of them asked.

“Yes,” I said slowly.

“You’ll need to come with us,” the other officer said.

My brow furrowed. “Why?”

The taller officer exchanged a glance with his partner. “We’ve received a report that you attempted to kidnap and harm an infant.”

I blinked, my stomach dropping. “What?”

They didn’t answer—only stepped aside.

And there she was. Carrie. Standing in the foyer. Pale-faced. Eyes wide. Cradling a blanket in her arms like there was a baby inside.

She looked at me with trembling lips and whispered, “Why would you do this to me, sister?”