When Love Turned To A Living Hell

Alexis POV:

A shadow fell over me. I heard a soft gasp, then a voice. "Alexis? Oh, my god, what happened?" It was Celeste. Her voice was laced with concern, but I heard the faint edge of disgust beneath it.

I blinked, trying to clear the haze from my eyes. My mouth tasted like copper. I saw Celeste' s hand reach out, her manicured fingers hovering over my arm. I flinched away, my skin crawling at her touch.

"Don't touch me," I managed to rasp, my voice hoarse and raw. I pushed myself up, slowly, painfully, my head still swimming. The room spun. The blood on the floor was a stark, ugly stain.

Celeste' s hand dropped. Her face twisted into a hurt expression. "I was just trying to help. You always push me away. It's like you hate me." She sniffled, already playing the victim.

From the hallway, Gavin' s voice boomed, sharp and demanding. "What's going on out there? Celeste, why are you shouting?"

Celeste moved quickly, almost too quickly, for someone supposedly so frail. She rushed to Gavin' s wheelchair, her hands immediately on his shoulders, her head bowed as if in distress. "She's... she's not well, Gavin. I just tried to help and she snapped at me."

Gavin glared at me, his eyes cold and hard. "Alexis, what's wrong with you? Can't you see Celeste is trying to be supportive? You're always so ungrateful." He didn't even notice the blood on my shirt, or the fresh stain on the floor. He never looked at me, not really.

Celeste, still clinging to Gavin, shot me a quick, triumphant smirk over his shoulder. It was subtle, fleeting, but I saw it. The pure, unadulterated malice in her eyes. She leaned in close to Gavin, whispering something I couldn't hear.

"Go to your room, Alexis," Gavin commanded, his voice tight with irritation. "Just… go. We' ll talk later. Celeste, come, let' s go. She needs to calm down." He let Celeste push his wheelchair away, not once glancing back at me. They disappeared into the bedroom, the door closing with a soft click that echoed in the sudden silence.

I was left alone in the living room, a cold, empty space. My eyes drifted to the small, crayon drawing taped to the wall. It was a simple picture: a stick figure family holding hands, a bright sun in the corner, and a small, shaky line drawing of a man in a wheelchair, with a big heart drawn next to him. Leo's drawing.

He had drawn it for Gavin. He wanted his daddy to be well. He wanted us all to be happy. A fresh wave of pain, sharp and suffocating, washed over me. My chest constricted. It was hard to breathe.

Leo never got to go to school. We couldn't afford it. He didn't have friends, no other kids to play with. He' d sit by the window, watching the neighborhood children laugh and chase each other, sharing brightly colored snacks. He' d just watch, his big eyes sad and longing.

My heart shattered all over again. I remembered the day I bought him a small bag of expensive gummy candies. It was a rare treat, something I saved for weeks to afford. He' d clutched the bag like it was gold.

"For Daddy," he'd said, offering the bag to Gavin first. Gavin, who was "paralyzed," ignored him, buried in his phone. Leo had then offered them to Celeste, who picked out a few of the brightest pieces with a delicate hand, barely looking at him. Leo, ever so sweet, had carefully divided the rest, leaving just one small piece for himself. He treasured that candy for days, nibbling tiny bits, even after it started to get hard.

He was such a good boy. Too good for this world. Too good for them. He died believing his father was a sick man, believing his aunt was a kind, supportive figure. He died for their lies. He died running to get help for the woman who had sacrificed everything for him, while his father and aunt were probably…

My mind flashed back to the recording. Their callous laughter. Celeste wishing for Leo to be gone. Gavin's chilling agreement. The blood on my shirt felt like a brand, scorching my skin.

I collapsed onto Leo's small bed, the worn blanket still carrying his faint, sweet scent. I buried my face in his pillow, the tears that had been held back by shock now streaming down my face, hot and endless. I cried until my throat was raw, until my eyes were swollen shut.

The house remained silent. Gavin and Celeste didn' t come out. They didn't call for me. They didn't check if I was still alive. They were probably together, in their room, just like they always were. The "rehab sessions" Gavin supposedly needed were just a cover. A cover for their affair. For their twisted, sick pleasure.

It all clicked into place. Gavin' s sudden "paralysis." The swift, inexplicable bankruptcy of his flourishing company. And then, Celeste, stepping in, "selflessly" offering to care for her "ailing" brother. I had been so grateful then, so relieved. I thought I was lucky to have such a kind sister-in-law.

While I was out in the brutal sun, shoveling dirt, scrubbing toilets, getting drenched in rain, they were here. In this house. Laughing at me. Plotting against me. Making love.

And the company. The one Gavin claimed was bankrupt? It wasn't bankrupt. Not really. It was transferred. All of it. To Celeste. She owned it now. The tech empire Gavin had built, the one he swore was for our future, for Leo's future, was hers.

The day Leo died, torn apart by dogs while I lay unconscious in the dust and heat, they had been together. In this house. Probably in Gavin's bed. While my son was taking his last, agonizing breaths, they were too busy to care. Too busy reveling in their stolen wealth and their depraved secret.

My tears dried up. A cold, hard resolve set in. My grief turned into a burning inferno. They would pay for this. Every single one of them.