She Used Our Son as Bait

I have two kidneys. I've given one of them to my wife, Teagan Holt.

In just one year, Teagan and her childhood sweetheart, Morgan Backman, have gone through all 72 karmasutra positions in bed. They can't wait to experience them all over again.

My other kidney is given to Morgan.

They've used 365 condoms, and the water bill is more than five times its regular rate. Teagan can't even get out of bed every day from how sore she is.

Two years later, when Morgan needs another kidney transplant in order to survive, Teagan steps into the manor on her own.

She looks everywhere for me, only to see our nine-year-old son, Milo Shepherd, crouching at the doorway.

"Milo, as long as you can convince your dad to donate his kidney to Mr. Backman, I'll allow you to come home with me."

Milo just stares up at Teagan innocently.

"But Mom, you have Dad's other kidney inside you."

Teagan Holt searched Holt Manor for a full hour, but still couldn't find me. She thought of her first love, Morgan Backman, lying weakly in the hospital bed and broke down the door in frustration.

"All I'm asking is one of your kidneys, Adrian Shepherd!" she bellowed. "If you don't come out now, don't ever think about coming back to the Holt residence!"

I stood before her. She couldn't see me, and I couldn't answer her because I had long been dead. I died on the operating table two years ago, when she took my last kidney for Morgan.

Teagan stood there for a while longer, growing more impatient by the second. A sound came from behind her. Thinking it was me, she turned around.

Instead, she saw our thin, frail son, Milo Shepherd, returning from outside. He was dressed in clothes so worn that they had faded pale from too many washes.

When Teagan saw him, there was no joy on her face, none of the warmth of a mother seeing her child after a long time apart. Instead, there was only disgust.

"Where's your dad?" she questioned. "Tell him to see me now!"

Milo stared at her blankly. His eyes were dull—nothing like those of a lively nine-year-old—and they held none of the joy one would expect at the sight of his mother. His silence only made the disdain on her face deepen.

"Hey, I'm talking to you. Say something!" Teagan barked, smacking the back of his head.

His eyes shifted slightly. "Dad can't see you. He's dead."

She froze for a moment, then said scornfully, "We've been apart for two years, and your dad is still as scheming as ever. Now, he's even asking you to lie about his death. Just tell me where he is! I don't have time for this!"

Milo slowly looked up at Teagan. After a moment of silence, he asked, "Mom, are you here to take me home?"

Two years ago, Morgan had deliberately fed Milo peanuts, knowing that he was allergic. I couldn't hold back my anger and punched him.

Teagan, believing Morgan's lies, assumed I had started it and locked both Milo and me in Holt Manor to, in her words, make us reflect. For two whole years, she never came to see us once.

At Milo's question, a flicker of guilt crossed Teagan's face. She crouched down, softening her tone. "Milo, if you just tell your dad to see me and have him donate a kidney to Mr. Backman, I'll take you home, alright?"

Her tone was undoubtedly coaxing, but the instant Milo heard Morgan's name, his expression changed. He shoved her away with all his might and screamed, "No! He's an evil, bad guy! He killed Dad! I don't—"

A crisp slap sounded in the air.

I tried to stop Teagan, but her hand passed straight through me and struck Milo across the face. He fell to the floor, the skin on his palm scraped open. Half a bread roll slipped out of his pocket.

None of that seemed to ease her anger. "It's been two years, yet you've only grown more ill-mannered! Is this how your dad raised you?"

Milo clutched his swollen cheek. Tears glistened in his eyes, but his expression screamed defiance.