I watched as my son was wheeled into the emergency room, my heart only beginning to ease slightly.
Toby’s lifeless face resurfaced in my mind.
Such a vibrant and adorable little cat had been reduced to a starving corpse.
When I arrived, my son had been staring blankly, ready to jump from the ledge.
Only when he saw me did he climb down.
His first words were, “Toby is dead.”
I covered my face, overwhelmed by a wave of delayed sorrow that sent me into a deep cry.
If only I hadn’t married Bradley.
If only I hadn’t been kidnapped.
Years ago, we were unexpectedly taken away, confined in a warehouse and starved for days.
The sensation of hunger was terrifying.
We huddled together, and when I saw the little cat squeezing through a small hole, my first instinct was to hide it from Bradley.
I feared he would resort to eating the kitten.
But instead, he covered my eyes and patiently advised me, “We are human beings, capable of kindness. Unless absolutely necessary, we must not harm living creatures.”
The cat dropped a fish not far from us, and we survived on the food it provided for quite some time.
Once we got out, we took the cat with us and named her Lia.
As time passed, I married Bradley, and she gradually grew old.
One by one, her kittens were taken away, leaving her with the last and strongest little female, whom we named Toby.
Toby grew up with our son, accompanying him through his darkest, most depressed moments.
Her eyes sparkled with life.
Yet now, she had died because of Bradley’s absurd punishment in the name of his first love.
He had forgotten his own principles.
Tears streamed down my face, one drop after another.
My son's weak voice broke the silence.
“Toby really is dead, isn’t she?”
It was calm, yet not entirely so; it held a lifelessness, as if he might slip away at any moment.
I held his hand, unable to find the words.
“Mom, I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you, and I couldn’t protect Toby either. Am I really that useless?”
I forced a smile, tears spilling from my eyes.
“Lukie, you’re incredible. You’ve endured so much pain and still have the courage to protect others. You are so precious.”
He wearily closed his eyes again.
Our family of four used to be so happy. Lucas loved to draw, capturing our joyful moments.
Everything changed when Bradley’s first love returned to the country.
He began to drift away, repeatedly skipping company meetings and anniversaries.
I was busy, so I canceled my work trips to be with our son as much as possible.
He would nuzzle my arm, sweetly saying, “Mommy, thanks for all your hard work.”
Until that one time, when I had repeatedly reminded Bradley not to forget to pick up our son from school.
He still went to see his first love.
When I hurried home, I was met with my son, bruised and tattered.
He trembled, his voice choked with tears.
“Mom, let’s go to the police.”
In that moment, the immense pain nearly shattered me.
Yet my son was so strong, bravely willing to go to the police station.
And now, he spoke to me calmly again.
“Mom, I think I’m going crazy.”
I opened my mouth but could only manage a breathy gasp.
Tears pooled in my sinuses, causing a dull ache.
“Mom, I love you.”
He repeated it, as if it were a sacred vow.
With great effort, he lifted his weary fingers, painting my image with all the colors he could muster.
But the hidden paper beneath was filled with dark, twisted strokes.
I knew he was searching for a reason to live, striving to break free.
Everything seemed to be improving; he had finally been discharged from the hospital.
Yet now, he was about to be pulled back into that black vortex.
“I don’t want you to get hurt anymore, Mom. Get a divorce, please.”
His hand brushed against mine, and I could no longer bear it.
My heart twisted painfully, and I broke down in tears.