The Son
She knew Maggie would not have killed herself. She just knew.
Wiping the tears out of the corner of her eyes, she glanced at the infant sleeping in his crib. Innocence in a cute blue onesie. He was too young to grasp, that he had just lost his mother.
So far she had been able to comfort him, give him the heartbeat, the closeness any mother would give to her own son, but how long was she able to keep the loss from him? Would he completely forget her, never feel any connection to this lovely woman who’s life ended far to early? How would she explain to him, that his mother would have never leave him behind, not on purpose?
Pulling out a napkin from the nightstand she dried her eyes, and stepped away toward the pictures on the wall. Pictures of all three of them, happy. In others it was just Maggie and her son. Yet another, her with a big belly and a tub of ice cream.
She had been radiant, full of energy and so exited about life. There was no way she would have shot herself.
Angela sighed painfully, her chest heavy, her eyes burning from the tears of the last 24 hours. Turning toward the dark wood dresser, she began to pull the young child’s clothing, carefully one, by one, placing it in the open suitcase on the floor. It was time for change, to take him with her, to keep the boy as her own.
The cracking of the floor boards preceded a deep, cold, voice.
“Kyle, I am home! Daddy is home!”
Frozen in terror, Angela dropped the clothing onto the floor. Of course Maggie had not killed herself. The nightmare had returned, to claim his son.
© Claudia H. Blanton 2013
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