You thought he was your husband. Turns out, he was nothing but a shadow wearing another man’s name.

And worse, he was the reason your child never lived past his sixth birthday.

You always wondered why he didn’t shed a single tear that night, when you were on your knees in the rain, clawing at the fresh earth above your son’s grave, begging, screaming, bargaining with God to turn back time. He just stood there, silent, unmoved, as though the coffin didn’t carry his own blood.

It had all begun years earlier. A mistake. One night blurred by liquor and loneliness. You barely remembered the details, only the touch of the man.

You thought he’d disappear come morning, but instead, he came back. He asked for marriage the moment he learned you were carrying his child. You should have known something was wrong.

But you were blinded by hope, by the promise of family and the thought that maybe, just maybe, this broken man could change.

You walked willingly into a cage, you didn't know was a trap.

After the vows, he was never home. The mansion echoed with your loneliness, filled with whispers from maids who pitied you but never spoke aloud. You learned to swallow tears and smile for scraps of affection that never came.

The first time you confronted him, he came home stinking of perfume that wasn’t yours. You asked him why, why he could betray you like this when you were carrying his child. His answer was a slap so hard it sent you to the floor, blood streaking your mouth. He didn’t look back as he ordered the maids to clean you up.

That night, you clutched your belly and prayed. You prayed your child would be enough to soften him. But when your son came into the world, his father’s eyes showed only disdain. Even as the years went by, you found yourself shielding your little boy from him. Every time he looked at him, it was as though he was staring at something unwanted.

And still, you stayed until the night that broke you.

He insisted on taking the boy out. You hesitated, but agreed, clinging to the hope that maybe, he was trying to bond. Hours later, the news came. Metal twisted, glass shattered, flames roaring through the night air on the highway.

Your son, the light in your life was gone.

Your screams split the air, at the funeral, you collapsed against your husband, beating your fists against his chest, begging him to weep with you.

“Cry!” you sobbed. “Please, just cry for him!”

But he only sneered, shoving you back so hard you fell against the dirt.

“Stop this. You can have another. If you want, I’ll spread your legs now and put one in you.”

The words gutted you. The smirk that followed carved your soul in two.

That was when your heart froze. Something inside you shattered beyond repair.

Days bled into nights. And one day you went to his grave, only to find a letter.

You stumbled into the storm with it in your hands, rain soaking the ink, thunder crashing overhead as you read the words written in your son’s small, uneven handwriting.

"Mama, I love you. You’re my only parent. I never needed a dad. But today I saw someone who looked exactly like him. Mama, I found out something. The man you call my father… isn’t really my dad. Please don’t tell him I know. I’m scared of what he’ll do. I love you."

Your knees gave way. The letter slipped from your trembling fingers as the truth gouged into you.

That was why he never cried and his eyes were cold, he planned it all... It was murder.

Tears streamed down your cheek as you looked up. A man stood in the rain, scar cutting across his face, his features hauntingly similar to the husband you thought you knew. But his eyes, his eyes weren’t empty, they carried carried sorrow.

You stood up, your voice hoarse, barely a whisper. “Who… who are you?”

His jaw clenched, rain dripping down his scar. “The father of your son.”

Your consciousness immediately slipped from shock, but the last thing you heard, was his final whisper, aching, desperate, drenched in rain.

“I’ll make him pay for what he’s done to you… and to our son."