Chapter 2
Three days later, I was discharged. Brenda, the
nerve of that woman, rented the apartment
right across the hall!
This was a high–end complex, easily going for
$3,000 a month even for a rental.
Brenda, with her minimum wage job (when she
worked), couldn’t afford that.
I sneaked onto our shared bank account online
and found Tom had recently transferred
$36,000.
Exactly enough for a year’s rent for Brenda.
The first time around, I thought Tom was so
Sweet and caring I brought the house
cars and
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9:02
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sweet and caring. I brought the house, cars and
over $100,000 with me when I married him. I
was happy and I was stupid.
Tom treated me like gold, doting on me, always
looking out for me.
He even convinced me to quit my job and
become a stay–at–home mom so I could focus
on raising Brenda’s little monster, promising
he’d work hard and provide for us.
But his crummy job wouldn’t cover a pizza
night.
We were using my savings to pay for
everything.
I worked my tail off, molding that little monster
into a college graduate. Years of stress gave
me cancer.
The doctor said it was treatable, but my ‘son‘
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signed the papers to stop the treatment and
dumped me in some leaky shack in the sticks.
“Why did you make me study so hard when we
had so much money?” he whined at me. “Mom
says I can have all the money when you die, and
I won’t have to work at all!”
Brenda was standing right behind him, grinning
like a Cheshire cat. “He doesn’t even know that
he’s my real son!”
“And I beat your real son so he’s retarded, the
lucky bastard”
I died in that hovel, watching them drive off. My
son was locked in the trunk.
So, when Brenda came knocking on my door, all
friendly–like, I was itching to rip her to shreds.
Brenda was playing the poor, helpless single
mom card, just like before.
“Hey, Sarah, got any extra formula? I’m broke, and this little bugger keeps crying. It’s driving me nuts!”
Before I could even open my mouth, Tom shuffled out of the bedroom, holding two cans of expired baby formula.
“We’re not exactly swimming in cash, Brenda. Formula’s expensive, I can’t let my son starve to feed yours, you know?”
His son… He was worried about that little
monster starving but was going to give old milk to my baby.
I snorted and knocked the cans of formula out
of his hands. “You’re gonna feed this garbage
to a baby? You want to kill him?”
Tom must’ve thought I was going to give
Brenda the good stuff. “He’s not our kid! Who
cares if he dies?”
Yeah, he wasn’t my kid. But I wasn’t giving my
things away.
I stomped on those cans until they were
crushed, and said, “If she can’t afford formula, let him starve.”
Brenda and Tom stared at me, mouths agape.
“Honey, you’re being so cold!” Tom gasped.
“Yeah, Sarah, you serious? My kid’s gonna die if you don’t give me formula!” Brenda whined.
I glared at her. “Whatever. Call the cops. I’ll say he was left unattended. They’ll lock you up,
bitch. Don’t test me.”
Tom shoved himself between us. “Alright, alright, calm down. If she won’t give it, she won’t give it.”
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I pushed Tom aside and stared down Brenda.
“If you don’t have money, does your kid’s father
have money? Oh, wait, is he a deadbeat who
knocked you up and ditched? Is your kid just a
bastard?”
Brenda’s face turned red with rage. “He’s not a
deadbeat! My man loves me!”
Then, she gave a sly smile. “But you know, that
gives me an idea. I haven’t even named the kid
yet. How about I call him Bastard?
I smiled. “Go for it. He’s your kid, call him.
whatever you want.”
I glanced at the baby in her arms. “Bastard.
Yeah, that’s perfect.”
Brenda didn’t even notice my sarcasm. “Yeah,
that’s what he is!”
9:03
She thought she had won.
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She thought that I was watching my own son get abused by my husband and husband’s
mistress.
Only I knew that my son was sleeping soundly in the bedroom, and the ‘Bastard‘ in Brenda’s arms was her and Tom’s little monster. This name, ‘Bastard‘ was the least of the hardships he was going to face.
