Neither His Nor Mine

My husband posted a family photo. The first comment under it read: [Dude, I think you’ve got a garden growing on your head.] [Your kid looks absolutely nothing like you.] [Five years of raising another man’s bastard and you’re smiling like the cuckold you are!] Marcus couldn’t stop staring at the replies. The more he read, the angrier he got, until he was screaming about divorce. To prove my innocence—to myself, as much as to him—I agreed to a DNA test. Only to find out that the child wasn’t his… or mine.

01 The instant I stepped through the front door, before I could even drop my bag, a stack of papers slammed into my face. A sharp corner grazed my cheek, leaving a thin, stinging line. Marcus Thorne stood in the center of our living room, his face a chilling mask of fury. “You filthy bitch!” His voice was a gravelly snarl ripped from the back of his throat. “You actually had the gall to put horns on my head!” I froze, bewildered. It took several seconds for me to bend down and gather the sheets scattered across the hardwood floor. My eyes scanned the dense, clinical jargon until they snagged on the final, bolded line: [Conclusion: Marcus Thorne is excluded as the biological father of Jace Thorne.] Boom. The world tilted. All the blood in my body rushed to my head, leaving me breathless and dizzy. I looked up, shaking my head in utter disbelief. “No, Marcus! That can’t be right! They made a mistake. Jace is absolutely your son, I swear to God!” “Swear to God?” He laughed—a short, vicious sound that held no humor. A second later, his hand was moving. CRACK! My left ear immediately began to ring, a high-pitched, insistent drone. My cheek felt like it had been set on fire. I stumbled backward, managing to brace myself against the shoe cabinet. “Audra Quinn, you’re still lying!” Marcus lunged forward, his large hand clamping down violently on my throat. He shoved me against the wall. “Tell me! Who was it? Who was the bastard? When did you sneak around? Tell me!” The impact jarred my spine. A paralyzing sense of suffocation washed over me. I clawed at his wrist, desperate to break his grip, but it was like struggling against concrete. “There was no one else! I don’t know why the test says this…” “You don’t know?” He leaned in, his eyes bloodshot and bulging. “Are you going to tell me next that the hospital swapped the babies?” His grip tightened, cutting off the last trickle of air. “Ha! You were the only mother who had a boy on that floor that night! I remember everything! I even took a picture the minute the nurse brought him out!” Black spots danced at the edge of my vision. The room blurred into a shimmering pool of light and shadow. Was this how I was going to die? Just as consciousness began to recede, a small voice broke through the panic. “Mommy!” A tiny figure burst from the bedroom doorway, running full tilt and slamming into Marcus’s leg. 02 Jace balled his small fists and pummeled Marcus’s thigh. “Bad Daddy! Don’t hit Mommy! Don’t be mean to Mommy!” “Get off me, you little bastard!” Blind with rage, Marcus didn’t even look down. He swung his leg out and kicked. Ugh—! A sickening thud. Jace flew backward, landing hard on the floor. “WAAAH—!!!” A heart-rending scream echoed through the quiet apartment. Jace! My child! I found a surge of primal strength I didn’t know I possessed. I bent my knee and drove it with all my might into Marcus’s groin. “Agh—!” The hand choking me finally released its hold. He fell to the ground, writhing in agonizing pain. Air flooded back into my lungs, triggering a harsh, racking cough. But I ignored it all. “Jace—!” I scrambled, crawling toward my son, frantically checking him for injuries. Thankfully, his thick winter clothes provided some padding. He wasn’t physically hurt, but he was hysterical. “You bitch, I’m going to kill you!” Recovering enough to breathe through the shock of pain, Marcus spotted a nearby dining chair. He grabbed it and raised it high, aiming for me and Jace. No time to think. I spun and shielded Jace’s small body with my own. CRASH! A searing pain erupted across my back, causing my body to convulse. Jace, pinned beneath me, was rigid with terror, the crying instantly arrested. Just then, a furious pounding started on the front door. Mr. Henderson, our neighbor from across the hall, roared: “What the hell is going on in there?! Are you tearing the place apart?! Keep it down, it’s the middle of the damn evening!” A sliver of hope pierced the terror. I drew a deep breath and screamed, my voice raw and desperate: “Help! Please! Call the police!” BANG, BANG, BANG! The door-banging intensified. Mr. Henderson yelled, “Open this door right now! Or I’m calling 911 myself!” 03 Marcus had no choice but to unlock the door. Mr. Henderson stormed in. His eyes immediately fixed on me, crumpled on the floor. The purplish-red fingerprints around my neck, the blood trickling from my lip. Jace was curled in my arms, shaking like a leaf. On the floor beside us was a small puddle of yellow liquid. Rage flashed across the neighbor’s face. He pointed at Marcus. “You sick animal! How could you beat a woman like this?!” He reached for his phone, ready to dial. “Hold on, buddy, you need to see this!” Marcus grabbed the man’s arm, shoving the paternity report into his hand. His eyes were red-rimmed and filled with what looked like genuine despair. “This cheating slut was sleeping around! The kid isn’t mine! I’ve been raising another man’s bastard for five years!” Mr. Henderson instinctively glanced at the report. When he looked up, his expression was entirely different—filled with contempt. “Well, well. You make a mess like that, and you have the nerve to yell for help?” I shook my head violently, trying to explain. “It’s not like that! I didn’t…” Mr. Henderson scoffed, cutting me off. “Save it! I hate loose women like you! The absolute worst kind of trash.” He turned to Marcus, slapping him roughly on the shoulder, his voice filled with sympathy and resentment. “Listen, man, I get it. I totally do. My ex-wife, she ran off with a fitness trainer. Cheaters are all the same, man. I shouldn’t have gotten involved. Just pretend I was never here. Do what you gotta do.” He started to walk away. I somehow found the strength to lunge forward, grabbing the cuff of his trousers. Tears mixed with the blood on my face. “Please… help me… call the police…” “Get off me, you dirt!” Mr. Henderson kicked out, catching me hard on the shoulder! I tumbled backward, crashing into the overturned chair, stars exploding behind my eyes. He brushed off his pant leg, as if wiping away a disgusting stain. Then, with a stern face, he addressed Marcus. “A word of advice, pal. Gag her mouth. You don’t want some clueless idiot hearing the noise and actually calling the cops. That’ll complicate things.” Marcus’s eyes lit up. “Thanks, man. You’re a lifesaver.” Mr. Henderson nodded, gave me one final look of utter disgust, turned, opened the door, and stepped out. THWUMP. The door shut with chilling finality. My last thread of hope snapped. 04 Click-clack. Marcus double-locked the door. He turned slowly, staring at me with a malevolent, chilling smirk. “So, Audra Quinn. You think you’re tough now? You wanted to call the cops?” I held Jace tightly, looking up to meet his gaze, my voice a broken rasp. “Marcus, I’m going to tell you one last time. I never cheated on you. If you don’t believe me, there’s nothing more I can do.” Every word felt like a needle in my lungs, but I forced the rest out: “Let’s get a divorce. The house, the savings, I don’t want any of it. I just want Jace.” “Divorce?” He sneered. The sound hadn’t even died when— SMACK! Another slap landed without warning. My ears screamed with the force of the blow, and a tooth came loose. He leaned down, his thumb stroking my split lip. The gesture was deceptively gentle, but it sent shivers of pure terror through me. “I’ve changed my mind. There will be no divorce. “You cheated me for five years, you piece of garbage. I’m not letting you off that easy…” His eyes fell on Jace, who was trembling in my arms. “And this little bastard, too.” He grabbed Jace’s arm and yanked him away from me! “Mommy—!” Jace’s scream was piercing. “Shut up!” Marcus roared, covering the child’s mouth and nose with his other hand. Jace’s cries were muffled into broken whimpering sounds. His small feet kicked uselessly in the air. “Look closely, Audra Quinn.” He clamped his hand around Jace’s neck, forcing the child’s face toward me. “His little life is in my hands now. If you dare to scream again, if you dare to think about calling the police…” His fingers tightened ever so slightly on Jace’s neck. Jace’s face began to flush red from the lack of air. I cried, shaking my head. “Stop! I won’t do anything. Marcus, let him go, please!” Marcus finally loosened his grip, a look of satisfied malice on his face. He lifted Jace and walked toward the bedroom. 05 The days that followed blurred into a living nightmare. Marcus stopped going to work. He spent his days drinking at home. An empty bottle, a meal that wasn’t to his liking, even bad weather outside—any of it was an excuse to beat me. The nights were the most humiliating. He would roll over at any time. If I resisted, he would give a slow, chilling smile. “What’s this? Playing the virtuous wife now? “Do you want to wake up the little bastard and let him watch, too?” Hearing that, all the fight drained out of me. I became utterly limp. I would just stare blankly at the ceiling, allowing him to use my body as he pleased. I had tried to escape. I had come so close. So close. One night, Marcus was finally in a deep, drunken sleep. I scooped up Jace and crept to the door. I had just cracked it open when I ran right into Mr. Henderson. He blocked my path. “Well, well. Out for a little stroll, are we? Can’t keep your legs closed, huh?” Before I could beg, he turned his head and yelled into my apartment: “Hey, Marcus! Check on your little tramp! She’s trying to sneak out again!” What followed was Marcus dragging me back by the hair, all the way from the entryway to the center of the living room, where he beat me until I blacked out. I couldn’t get out of bed for three days. There wasn’t a patch of unmarked skin on my body. After that, a heavy-duty security chain was installed on the front door. The spare keys were hidden in a place I couldn’t reach. 06 The terror and trauma of the past week finally broke Jace. He developed a high fever. His skin was frighteningly hot. He was drowsy, muttering “Mommy” faintly in his sleep. I knelt on the floor, begging Marcus. “Jace’s fever is too high, he needs a doctor, please…” Marcus sat on the sofa, legs crossed, slowly sipping his whiskey. He didn’t even look up. “The bastard can die for all I care. “I’m starving. Get in the kitchen and make me some food.” He kicked me hard. A muffled cry of pain escaped me, but I swallowed the tears, grabbing his pant leg, pleading desperately. “Please, let me take Jace to the ER first. I’ll do anything when I get back, please! He’ll get brain damage!” He leaned down, his breath reeking of alcohol, his eyes cold and vicious. “I’m going to say this one last time. Cook. “Waste one more minute begging, and I’ll kill him right now. Do you believe me?” I believed him. How could I not? All the pleas died in my throat. I released his leg, pushed myself up on wobbly limbs, and stumbled into the kitchen. I turned the gas stove knob. The blue flame whooshed to life. I looked back through the kitchen doorway. Jace was a little patch of scarlet on the sofa, his body twitching with occasional convulsions. Marcus poured another glass of whiskey, tilting his head back to drink it down, not sparing Jace a single glance. A cold certainty settled over me. If things went on like this, both Jace and I would die. I stood there in silence for a long time. Finally, I picked up the bottle of cooking oil and poured the entire contents into the pan. I scooped several large spoonfuls of granulated sugar and sprinkled them over the oil. The oil began to smoke. The sugar slowly melted. Brown bubbles—boiling, viscous, and deadly—gurgled up. “What the hell are you doing? Did you die in the kitchen?” Marcus’s impatient, angry roar came from the dining room. CLANG! The sound of a chair being roughly pushed back. “Are you trying to get another beating? I’m talking to you, why aren’t you answering?” His footsteps were at the doorway. Now. The instant Marcus leaned in to peer around the corner, I hoisted the pan and flung the contents directly at his face. The scalding oil arced through the air. “AARGH—!!!” A horrifying, piercing scream erupted. The sickening smell of burnt flesh filled the air.