Chapter 3
The woman who kept him from coming home was my best friend, Callie, whom I'd known for years and could talk to about anything.
I glanced around Callie's place, thinking that just one of her expensive ornaments could easily wipe out the two million dollars of debt.
But all she wanted was to drag me and Michael into the depths, leaving us with no way out, no hope of survival.
Nothing could stop me from hating her.
Callie's son, Mike Doyle, came running out of the house in a set of designer pajamas.
He was two years younger than Michael, but with all those fancy meals, he was just as tall.
"Why should beggars be allowed in my house? If you don't have a place to stay, just sleep on the street!" Mike sneered.
"Mike! Watch your mouth!" Callie snapped.
It was almost funny. Michael's nickname and Mike's name sounded identical.
No wonder even if the boys looked so much alike, Charlie never once called them by the wrong name.
I kept quiet, but Michael burst into tears right then and there, scared out of his wits.
Callie quickly covered Mike's mouth and, right in front of me, offered a formal apology.
But later that evening, I overheard her secretly stirring things up with Michael, whispering, "If you get bullied, you have no one to blame but yourself!
"If your mom hadn't refused to give up her inheritance, you wouldn't have to come here and deal with us looking down on you!"
She even instructed Mike to keep bothering Michael, and when no one was watching, he'd bully Michael, hitting and pinching whenever he got the chance.
Michael was left exhausted and defeated after all that, and the next day, his back was mottled with bruises.
He didn't blame me. He just kept sobbing, begging to go home.
I saw everything, but I didn't say a word.
Seeing how indifferent I was, Callie couldn't take it anymore.
That night, she quietly slipped out to the balcony and made a call. Callie whispered into the phone, "Yeah, his name's Michael, nickname, Mike.
"He's right at the entrance of the neighborhood... The camera can't see him."
The memory of Michael's bloodied fingers made me tremble all over, unable to control myself.
My nails dug so deeply into my palms that I started bleeding, and it was only after a while that I realized how much it hurt.
Sure enough, on the day of the funeral, just as I arrived at the funeral home, my phone rang. It was Ayden.
"Why hasn't the two million hit my account yet? This is the last day. If I don't see the money, your son's not getting out of this alive!" Ayden barked.
I could hear a boy crying in the background.
I turned on the speakerphone and said nothing.
The guests around me were freaking out way more than I was, wondering if we should call the cops.
I just waved them off. "No need. Let's just get through the funeral first.
"The cremation's about to start. Let's not delay my husband's final rest."
Callie looked at me, utterly shocked. "Is Michael really your biological son?
"After all this, are you still going to keep pretending?
"Just sign the inheritance waiver and tell Ayden you're not responsible for the two-million-dollar debt!
"Otherwise, they'll really go through with it and hurt Michael!"
Everyone was nervous, nodding along and agreeing that she made sense.
I stared unblinkingly as Charlie's body was pushed into the cremation chamber, then said quietly but firmly, "Michael's going to be okay."
Someone behind me shoved me hard. "You won't even sign it? Do you even deserve to be a mother?
"Is cremating a corpse really more important than your own child?"
My knees crashed down onto the icy tiles, and the pain shot through me. I couldn't help but let out a gasp.
Outside, a scream erupted, way louder than mine.
Someone brought in a severed pinky finger from a kid, maybe seven or eight years old, blood thick and sticky smeared across the plastic bag.
I just froze, unable to move, while the guests around me started puking on the spot.
Callie scoffed, chin raised, "Is this your idea of 'going to be okay'?"
She shoved the inheritance waiver in front of me and even shoved a pen into my hand.
She urged, "Just sign it now! Once Ayden sees this, he won't be able to mess with you or Michael anymore.
"Even if they're reckless, they wouldn't actually break the law."
I wouldn't even touch the pen, just staring straight at the cremation chamber.
This time, Callie couldn't take it anymore and started shouting right in front of the guests.
She fumed. "Irene, I know I'm your best friend, but let me be real with you. I've got to speak some truth here!
"Michael is in Ayden's hands, you can't pay off the debt, and you still won't give up your inheritance. Are you seriously trying to get him killed?
"What kind of mother does this? Honestly, Charlie shouldn't be the one dead. It should be you, you heartless witch!"
Callie kept shouting, riling up the crowd, and a few strangers seized the moment, grabbing my hands and trying to force me to sign the papers.
The rage outside the cremation chamber felt like it was scorching me alive. Figures flashed past, fists swung, and the whole scene blurred into chaos.
Only when the flesh inside the chamber was reduced to nothing but charred black did the madness finally come to a halt.
The moment Charlie's ashes were retrieved, a smile crept onto my face.
The crowd was left speechless, stunned.
I shredded the half-signed waiver into pieces.
Callie had her mouth open, about to run her mouth again.
I slapped her right across the face without hesitation and kicked her, sending her sprawling on the floor.
I shot back, "Callie, what gives you the right to tell me how to be a mother?
"I'm more fit to be a mom than you ever will be, because the kid who's actually been kidnapped isn't..."
Callie had been hit so hard that her eyes were blazing red with rage.
Before I could finish my sentence, she launched herself at me, wild and furious.
She yelled, "Irene, you dare hit me?
"You've got no husband, no kid, and not even a home.
"If I hadn't let you stay at my place, you'd be out on the streets begging! Who do you think you are, hitting me?"