Then, with a laugh as soft as glass breaking, she added, "To me, Colin has never been anything but a toy. When I was little and bored, I'd lock him in the dark room, throw in snakes and rats, and laugh at his cries."
Her eyes sharpened.
"Later, I found him feeding stray dogs every day. I poisoned a few, and he actually dared to raise a knife against me—over animals!"
Her teeth ground together.
"That mutt deserved to die."
I had reached the doorway by then, and her words struck me like a blade.
My memory flashed with the image—Noreen chaining me for three days straight, breaking my body, her hands always closing around my throat as she hissed, "If playing with you isn't enough... then I'll bear your child. Let's see if you can keep that defiance once I'm carrying your blood."
Her eyes had been fevered, obsessed. That memory was carved into me.
It was Darcy who found the old master and saved me. Darcy accompanied me to the hospital—who sat with me as I chose sterilization, severing any chance of fatherhood. Because I would rather die than let Noreen give birth to my child.
It was from that day that her hatred of Darcy curdled into a death sentence.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed.