When Love Fades, Cruel Words Bloom

I was born with cursed words. Everything I said seemed to come true in the worst way possible, so I stopped speaking entirely since I was old enough to understand. When our six-year-old son accidentally bumped into my pregnant sister-in-law, my husband sent him to a brutal dog training facility. Our son had been bitten by a dog before and was terrified of them. I desperately tried to stop it, begging on my knees until my forehead was bleeding. Gabriel helped Lily up, gently caressing her swollen belly. His voice was cold and unfeeling when he spoke to me: “Don’t think I can’t see through you. He did this because you told him to. You’re a conniving mute, and he has your tainted blood running through his veins. If we don’t teach him now, he’ll grow up to be just as rotten as you.” “We’re sending him to learn some manners, to understand respect and hierarchy. It’ll teach you a lesson too - don’t meddle in things that aren’t your business!” When I finally found our son, he was locked in a cage with five vicious dogs, his small body torn to pieces. I pieced together my son’s tiny body, and for the first time in over twenty years, I spoke: “Gabriel Curtis, I swear you’ll pay for this in blood. Your family will be ruined.”