The hatred coiled around my heart like poisonous vines, squeezing until I could barely breathe. I stared at his hypocritical, vicious face, my nails digging so deep into my palms that blood seeped out—I didn't even feel it. My mind was filled with nothing but the urge to tear him apart.
But in the next instant, two small voices—soft and sweet—pierced through my surging hatred like a needle, gentle yet sharp, drilling into my ears as clearly as if they were right beside me.
Those were the countless nights when the girls had nestled in my arms, their little hands clinging tightly to my arm, their cheeks nuzzling against mine as they wheedled for attention.
Louise, the older one, blinking those big round eyes, her voice soft as cotton: "Mommy, I love Daddy so much. Daddy's the most handsome daddy in our whole kindergarten—even more handsome than Daisy's daddy!"
Zelda nodding along, her little head bobbing back and forth: "Mommy, we miss Daddy so much. Is Daddy coming home for dinner tonight? We drew a picture of Daddy. We want to give it to him."