Madam Helen finally turned, a thin, sharp smile curling her lips as she looked at me with pure contempt.
She laughed, suggesting that “Toby was inherently weak, that Conrad had been disciplined exactly the same way when he was small, and that I was nothing more than a temporary employee hired to keep up appearances for the shareholders.”
Without breaking eye contact, I picked up the rod again and bent it with all my strength until it snapped into two jagged pieces, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the silent room.
“From this moment forward, every single bruise or mark that appears on that boy’s body will be documented by a medical professional,” I declared, my voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through my veins. “And if anyone touches him again, I will not hesitate to file a formal report with the authorities.”
I left her trembling with rage and headed upstairs to wait for Conrad, who arrived home near midnight, already agitated because his mother had called him to complain about her sudden, manufactured blood pressure spike.
“You really should have kept your composure, Penelope,” he said, rubbing his temples as he walked into the bedroom. “My mother has her methods, and those children require a firm hand to learn discipline.”
I looked at the man I had stood at the altar with only hours ago and felt a crushing realization that I didn’t actually know him at all.
“Your son does not need a firm hand or a rod, Conrad; he needs a father who is actually present,” I told him, blocking his path as he tried to walk past me.
He attempted to defend his mother’s traditional values, but I forced him to sit down and listen to the truth of what was happening under his own roof.
I laid it all out, clearly and brutally, telling him that if he did not change the rules of this house by the time the sun rose, I would immediately seek legal protection for Toby and hand every piece of evidence I had gathered over to the press and the police.
