In a daze, memories flooded back. The night Leo was born, I held his soft, swaddled body, filled with joy, and begged Liam to take a family photo. He frowned and brushed me off, saying, "Leo is so small, his face is all wrinkled, what's the point of taking a family photo? We'll do it when he's older." I naively believed him, thinking he just didn't like having his picture taken. Later, I could only sneak Leo to his side while he was asleep and take a blurry photo—the only picture of the three of us together.
It turns out, it wasn't that he disliked taking photos, nor that he didn't know how to express fatherly love; it's just that his gentleness and patience were never meant for Leo and me. Our son, from birth, was superfluous in his eyes.
My fingertips trembled slightly as I scrolled through the jarring photos, and I stumbled upon a video from the night before my birthday party. The moment I clicked on it, Leo's innocent cries pierced my ears—in the video, my son was being pinned down on the carpet by Zeke, his little hands flailing helplessly, his face flushed red, while Vanessa stood by, not only not intervening, but also crying pitifully at the camera: "Liam, look, Clara's son is so young and he already fights back. Today he almost scratched Zeke. When he grows up and his mind is more mature, who knows what kind of bullying he'll do to our children!"
At the end of the video, Liam's cold voice can be heard: "Don't worry, I won't give him a chance to hurt Zeke."
My blood ran cold. I gripped my phone so tightly my knuckles turned white, almost crushing the screen. So that's how it was. My son's tragedy wasn't a spur-of-the-moment act; it was premeditated. Just because of Vanessa's provocation, he was able to brutally murder his own two-year-old son, ruining his life.
I bit my lower lip hard until I tasted the strong metallic flavor of blood, barely managing to suppress the surging hatred in my heart. This man was filthy, disgusting. The love and marriage I once cherished were nothing but a meticulously planned deception. I didn't want it anymore, and I couldn't bear it any longer.