I heard it all.
And even though I had no body to cry with, I felt the tears—burning, invisible, never falling.
My son. My six-year-old son… trusted me more than the woman I had loved for eight years ever did.
It all started unraveling five years ago, when Eric came back from abroad and turned our peaceful lives upside down. I remember it clearly—the night Leo turned one. I’d spent the whole day getting the house ready, blowing up balloons, hanging streamers. I was so excited for Nadia to come home and celebrate with us.
She never showed.
Not until ten o’clock that night.
I came downstairs, carrying our sleepy boy in my arms, only to find her in the driveway—wrapped in Eric’s arms.
“I could come back to you,” she said softly, “if you asked me to. I’d leave it all behind. Even my son and husband.”
Eric gave her that smug smile I hated. “I’m not sure yet,” he said. “But for now, I want you to stop sleeping with him.”
And just like that, she agreed. Like a loyal little pet.
From that night on, she wouldn’t even touch me. Not a glance. Not a word. If she ever felt desire again, she disappeared into the bathroom for a cold shower and came out like nothing happened.
Two years passed. Then one day, Eric told her, “Nadia… I want a baby.”
She lit up like it was the best news she’d ever heard. Forget the fact that we were still married. Forget the child we already had. She threw herself into getting pregnant with his child like it was her life’s purpose.
It burned. Because I remembered how she’d reacted when she found out she was pregnant with Leo—blank, indifferent, like she’d swallowed a stone.
I confronted her that night. The words just exploded out of me. But she barely looked up.
“Why are you always so dramatic?” she muttered, annoyed, barely sparing me a glance. “Eric’s been living overseas all alone for years. He came back because he’s sick. He’s been my friend since we were kids. I’m just trying to help him a little—is that so hard for you to understand?”
She clicked her tongue, exasperated.
“And don’t forget, you’re the one who begged me to marry you. You get to sit around in this house without lifting a finger. You don’t work, you don’t clean and there are maids to do everything for you. What more do you want?”
Then she grabbed her coat and walked out—just like that. Not a second glance.
Even when Leo woke up crying, loud and scared, she didn’t come back. Didn’t pause. Didn’t care.
That was the time I realized how cold woman could be when she was no longer loving.
Later, I caught Eric cornering one of the maids’ daughters in the hallway. I confronted him, warned him to back off and that same day, he threw himself down the staircase.
Then he told Nadia I pushed him.
She didn’t even ask for my side. Just slapped me across the face—again and again—and had her guards send me to the villa.
“Think about what you’ve done,” she said.
Barely two months later, Eric came back to finish the job.
And now… now she stood here threatening my son, choking him, for the sake of that same man.
Leo’s voice snapped her out of it. But his courage? It infuriated her.
“You little brat,” she hissed, eyes blazing. “You’re just like your father!”
She slapped him across the face—hard.
Leo was only six. He couldn’t take a hit like that. It knocked him straight to the ground—right in front of my grave.
Nadia’s face was cold. Icy.
“How many times have I told you, Leo?” she said through clenched teeth. “He’s your uncle. Your uncle. Who taught you to speak to him like that?” She jabbed a finger at Eric. “Like father, like son. You both drive me insane.”
Then—like flipping a switch—her voice softened. She turned to Eric, eyes warm, tone laced with honey.
Eric, ever the performer, looked like a wounded angel—eyes misty, lip trembling, soaking in the drama.
“I’m so sorry, Eric,” she cooed, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve with the tenderness she never gave her own child. “I promised I’d protect you. I won’t let anyone hurt you… not even my son.”
And then, just like that, she spun back around and kicked Leo while he was still on the ground.
He let out a gasp—more in shock than pain.
“Get up,” she snapped. “Kneel and apologize to him.”
Eric stepped in then, with all the fake nobility of a martyr.
“Nadia… don’t be too hard on him,” he said gently, eyes shining as if he might cry. “He’s just a kid. If he hates me, it’s probably my fault. I must’ve done something wrong. Don’t blame him.”
The more tender Eric sounded, the colder Nadia’s eyes became.
Leo didn’t move fast enough. She kicked him again.
“Are you deaf? Apologize to Eric!”
I couldn’t believe how far she was willing to go to protect him—to worship him.
After Eric was diagnosed with kidney failure, some New Age quack told her it was karma—that his suffering was punishment for all the bad things he’d done.
Nadia lost it. She beat the guy half to death.
Now, just because my son dared to speak up, she wanted to force him to his knees in front of the man who murdered me.
But Leo… my son had my stubbornness.
His little fists clenched at his sides, eyes burning with tears.
“I won’t!” he shouted. “He’s the one who killed my dad!”
Eric’s face went pale. Nadia froze mid-motion.
“What… what did you say?” she asked, voice low and dangerous.
