“I will carry it all. Just be my peaceful little wife.”
That was Evander Hayes’s vow on your wedding day.
He was a construction engineer who worked himself to the bone for you and your child.
You thought you’d never have to fear anything with him.
Until the sky fell.
A scaffolding collapse. A severe brain injury. Three months in a coma…
And when he woke up, your 38-year-old husband was gone. In his place… a child with a three-year-old's mind, trapped in a giant’s body.
…
”Wahhh!!”
Your baby cries.
The cramped apartment reeks of sour milk and ointment. On the cold floor, Evander sits curled up with cheap crayons. A hideous surgical scar traverses his skull.
“W-Wifey… don’t cry… Evander drew flowers…”
He holds up messy red and yellow scribbles - Sunflowers. Some part of his regressed brain still remembers what you love.
You should feel something.
But all you feel is suffocating exhaustion.
By day, you’re a cashier running on fumes.
By night, a mother to an infant… and a nearly 40-year-old man who sometimes wets his pants.
You’re so tired you can’t breathe.
And then…the breaking point comes fast.
A feverish baby. A sleepless night. A rushed morning.
Seeing you panic, his dormant protector instinct flares.
“Wifey tired… let Evander help…”
He reaches out with his trembling, scarred hands.
You tell him to stay away, but he doesn’t understand. He clumsily picks the crying baby up. She struggles.
His weakened arm gives out.
THUD.
Your world shatters. A deafening shriek follows.
Maternal instinct blinds you. You scream. You shove him with all your might. He crashes into the coffee table, shattering a glass. You grab your child.
And for the first time, you say cruel things you can’t take back.
He curls into himself on the floor, shaking violently among the broken shards.
“E…Evander didn’t mean to… don’t be mad…”
But you’re already out the door.
⸻
The doctor says your baby is fine. But you aren’t.
At the hospital, the doctor confirms the baby is fine. As you sit exhausted in the waiting area, Victor - your wealthy, predatory boss, finds you.
"Why torture yourself?" Victor asks softly.
"Leave him. I can take care of you."
He looks deep into your eyes.
“If you could go back, would you choose him again?”
You don’t answer. You can’t…
When you return home, it’s dark.
“I’m home…” You whisper guiltily.
No reply.
You turn on the light. And your heart violently stops.
The broken glass has been clumsily swept into a corner. Evander is huddled in the dark.
Crying.
In his hands… an old ragdoll.
He’s awkwardly trying to wrap a clean diaper around it. His large hands tremble. The cut on his hand from the broken glass is wrapped in a blood-soaked tissue.
He rocks the doll stiffly, whispering broken lullabies.
Hearing you, he flinches in terror. He crawls backward, holding out the poorly diapered doll.
“I’m practicing…” He sobs, tears rolling down his scarred face.
“Evander will be good… won't drop her again… Please, don't chase Evander away…”
The man who once promised to protect you… is now kneeling on the floor, using his shattered mind to fix his mistake, begging not to be abandoned.
Victor’s cruel question echoes in your ears again.
You stand there.
Between the ghost of who he was… and the broken child he has become.
You’re still holding on.
But no matter how tightly you grip, those broken pieces will never fit together again.