Without proper documentation, I lost my job. I was a young woman, married away from my family, trapped in a house that never truly felt like mine, and under the control of a woman who made it her daily goal to wear me down until I had nothing left.
Years later, when Nathan failed the college entrance exam, missing the cutoff by exactly fifteen points, she twisted the knife one more time.
"If it weren't for your selfish mother refusing to register you under her name," Eleanor said, practically gleeful, "you wouldn't have had to suffer like this, my poor grandson!"
That was the last thing I heard before my son stabbed me.
And Paul, my husband? He actually used our son's supermale syndrome diagnosis to write a clemency letter to the court, begging for leniency, like that somehow made everything okay.
But when I opened my eyes again, I wasn't in a courtroom or a hospital bed. I was in the delivery room back at the time when I was about to give birth to my son.
——
Right then, a sharp wave of pain ripped through my abdomen, and warm liquid spread beneath me.
"Amara, don't be afraid. Your mother-in-law just called. She and your husband are on their way," said a familiar voice.