At the end of the video, Humphrey shot a taunting glance directly at the camera.
So that was all I ever was to her. A sperm donor. A tool.
So when she'd drunkenly murmured about having another baby, this was what she'd meant.
I sat in the car, cold seeping through every inch of my body. My nails dug into the flesh of my palms until they nearly broke the skin, the only thing keeping the fury from consuming me whole.
My hands shook as I was about to tap "save video."
The next second, the sender recalled it.
The blood drained from my face. I ordered the driver to turn around and head straight for Humphrey's residence.
I had barely reached the front gate when Humphrey strolled out of the villa.
"Hey, brother-in-law! What brings you here all of a sudden?"
I pulled my lips into a cold, thin smile.
"Humphrey. Where is my child?"
He kept up the act perfectly, even managing a look of surprise.
"What are you talking about?"
"I know the premature stillbirth hit you hard, and I'm sorry about that, but you can't just go around making wild accusations."
My face went whiter. He leaned in close, his mouth near my ear.
"You know, brother-in-law, I'm starting to worry about you. Losing the baby, the depression... are you having hallucinations now? I seem to remember you were always paranoid about me and—"
My hand flew toward his face before he could finish.
"You and Ida, you're both despicable—"
My palm was an inch from his cheek when someone seized both my arms from behind with crushing force.
Then Ida's cold voice came from above. "Roland, didn't you say you were going out to clear your head? What are you doing here making a scene?"
I thrashed like a man possessed, but I was no match for the bodyguards' grip.
The bones in my wrists felt like they were being ground to dust, but that pain didn't amount to a fraction of what was tearing through my chest.
I looked at Ida with bloodshot eyes, my voice raw. "I know everything, Ida."
Her pupils contracted for a split second before her expression smoothed over.
"Ida, I'm begging you!" The words ripped from my throat. "Give me back my child!"
Seeing my reddened eyes, she pressed her lips together, seeming about to say something—
Humphrey cut in. "Ida, I think he's having some kind of psychotic episode. I understand he's grieving, but the baby is gone. You know that."
I snapped my head toward Humphrey. My mouth opened, but before a single word could leave it, I heard the coldest sentence I had ever heard in my life.
"Take him to the psychiatric ward for an evaluation. I won't have him making a spectacle out here."
I fought with everything I had, screaming at their retreating backs.
"I'm not crazy! You're the ones who are insane—"
The hospital's assessment came back quickly. I was "diagnosed" with a dissociative disorder.
Ida wasted no time arranging my admission for inpatient treatment and assigned extra personnel to "look after" me.
The doctors subjected me to electroshock therapy, session after session, until they'd nearly tortured me into the very madness they claimed to be treating.
When the treatments were over, I had almost nothing left. No rage, no grief, no will. I lay on the hospital bed like a husk, staring at nothing.
Then a faint signal chimed from the window.
I dragged myself off the bed, walked to the window with slow, steady steps, and looked down.
The instant I moved to jump, the door behind me swung open.
Ida walked in just in time to see me throw myself from the eighteenth floor.
Her pupils shrank to pinpoints. She lunged for the window, her hand clawing at empty air. "Roland! No!"
