Once, he thought that single blow I dealt him would be enough to win me back, to torment me anew.
As long as he had a goal, his mind would appear stable.
But now, with no control over me, he was spiraling into madness, his true nature unrestrained. Screaming, cursing, breaking things, lashing out at everyone around him.
That day, as I returned home from work, I noticed a small figure crouched at my doorstep. I paused.
When Alaric saw me, he burst into tears and ran toward me.
I held his shoulders to stop him, frowning. "What happened?"
Sniffling, he rolled up his sleeves.
His arms were covered in bruises, swollen and mottled with clear marks of abuse.
"Mommy, Daddy hit me. I don't want to go back. I want Mommy. I don't want Daddy anymore..."
My expression darkened.
I hadn't expected my ex-husband to stoop so low as to take his anger out on our child.
Holding Alaric's hand, I took him to the police station to file a report. I also called my ex-husband's mother.
Upon hearing that her son was ruined and that her only grandson was on the verge of being beaten to death, she didn't even finish her sentence before hurriedly asking for the address to come over.
I stayed with Alaric at the station for hours, buying him a pancake while we waited.
Watching him devour it hungrily, even picking up the onions that fell onto his clothes to eat, my heart sank, and I silently cursed my ex-husband a thousand times.
When his grandmother arrived, I finally breathed a sigh of relief. Without hesitation, I grabbed my bag to leave.
Alaric clung to my sleeve.
Tears filled his eyes. "Mommy, are you really going to leave me?
"I don't want Daddy. I want to go with you. I want to go home with you..."
His cries grew louder, his snot and tears mixing on his pitiful little face.
I stopped and crouched down, pulling tissues from my bag to wipe his tears. Carefully, I told him:
"I've told you before, everyone must take responsibility for their actions.
"I love you, but that doesn't mean you can speak to me disrespectfully or hurt me whenever you want."
I continued firmly:"Whether you understand this or not, remember it well."
"When you're older and can understand, when time has worn away the pain, then come find me."
I patted his head. "Maybe then, we can live together again."
I turned and walked away.
Behind me, Alaric's cries were heart-wrenching, interspersed with hiccups and gasps. He called out "Mommy" over and over, his voice hoarse with desperation.
But I didn't look back.
Even as his cries reached me, my heart felt no great pain.
The bond of blood, the love between mother and child, had finally been defeated by the harshness of reality and despair.
Descending the police station steps, I saw Cedric standing there, dressed in a chestnut-colored trench coat. The cool autumn breeze ruffled his hair as he smiled at me.
I walked over to Cedric, wrapped my arms around him, and nuzzled against his chest. Softly, I asked:
"What do you think will happen to him with his grandmother? What kind of person will he become?"
"Probably just like his father," Cedric said, stroking my hair. "If you want, we can..."
"No, I don't want to."
I shook my head without hesitation.
"I just... pity a child destined to be ruined."
With my ex-husband's arrogance and paranoia combined with his grandmother's excessive indulgence, Alaric's future would likely mirror his father's: pathetic and foolish.
But even so, I didn't want to raise him again.
He may be pitiable, but wasn't I also pitiable after being betrayed and hurt by his words?
During those desperate days when I had nothing, he basked in the wealth and luxury of his idolized father's world, full of joy and excitement.
I am selfish. Even though I told myself repeatedly that he was just a child, incapable of understanding the weight of his words, I couldn't forgive him.
