After My Husband Locked Our Son In Darkness

Uncle Zack wore a polite but distant smile. "I'll take the young master to the time-out room. It's a rule set by Master Zechariah; he needs to learn from his mistakes."

I was taken aback. "He's only seven!"

"Ma'am, it's a Ryan family tradition. You're new here, but you'll get used to it eventually."

I couldn't ever see myself getting used to this. "Put him down!"

Uncle Zack gave me a complex look. "Ma'am, it's the master's orders. You should wait for him to return and discuss it. Otherwise, if he gets upset, we’ll have a hard time explaining."

"Put him down, or you can pack your things and leave."

Uncle Zack chuckled, “I've been with the Ryan family for over twenty years, and these rules have been around even longer. The master grew up with them. It wouldn't be wise for you to try and change everything on your first day. Focus on earning the master's trust to secure your place."

He marched off, taking Moises Ryan with him, ignoring his struggles and cries, not even considering if he was hungry or scared.

I felt a surge of anger.

Maybe I misunderstood Moises' previous guardian. The cold and detached behavior Moises showed as he got older wasn't entirely their fault. Zechariah's house rules and the indifferent staff were also to blame.

I followed them to the time-out room.

It was a small, dark chamber without windows. Uncle Zack opened the door, put Moises inside, and I slipped in as well.

Uncle Zack seemed annoyed but snorted and shut the door with force.

I turned on my phone's flashlight; Moises had been crying but went silent when he saw me. I reached out for his little hand.

He pulled away.

I tried again.

He pulled away again.

Softly, I said, "Can I hold your hand? It's really dark in here, and I'm scared."

Moises was silent.

This time, when I reached for his hand, he didn't pull away but turned his head to avoid looking at me.

"Why did you follow me?"

"I was worried about you."

"You're lying. I'm a bad kid; nobody likes me."

"Who told you that? I like you. On my first day here, none of the staff talked to me, but you did. You even showed me around and helped me find my things. I've never met such a kind and thoughtful kid."

"But... I'm picky with my food. I broke dishes, cursed, and even hit people."

His voice was filled with resignation, but I sensed a plea for affirmation.

My heart softened. What kind of criticism had he faced to see himself this way?

"I'm picky with food too. Everyone has foods they don't like, but adults simply avoid them. Kids get labeled as picky just because they don't cook or shop yet. If it were me, I’d throw dishes too, shout, and fight. It shows you have spirit, and I admire that so much."

"Re... really? Adults are picky eaters too?"

"Of course! I don't eat Brussels sprouts. Have you ever noticed anything Mrs. Wilson or Uncle Zack avoids? Think carefully, I'm sure you have. If there's a dish that never shows up, they probably don’t like it."

I showed him a grocery shopping app on my phone, scrolling through various vegetables.

His small fingers began to scroll through the list, and his eyes lit up instantly. "Brussels sprouts and endive never appear."

Now I understood. "Once we're out, we'll make them eat Brussels sprouts every day."

"Okay."

He brightened up, moving closer to me.

I patted his little head. He paused momentarily, shyly turning away.

Suddenly, he said, "But you called me a bad kid yesterday. You said I was that kind of child."

Haha! This little rascal remembered until today.

I laughed. "Of course not. I said only kids who did something wrong get called that, and you haven’t done anything wrong. I’d never use your full name unless I had to. I'd rather call you by your nickname."

Moises's lips quickly curled into a smile before he tried to suppress it.

Casually, he said, "Mom used to call me Mo-Mo."

"Alright, Mo-Mo, my name is Aspen McDonald. You can call me Auntie Aspen or Sister Aspen."

We sat together for a while in the stuffy, oppressive room. I couldn't imagine how Moises endured being locked in here countless times.

Only those with skewed minds would confine a seven-year-old like this.

I dialed Zechariah's number, barely controlling my anger. No answer. When I tried again, I was met with a busy signal.

I stared at the phone as though seeing a ghost.

Had Zechariah blocked me?

Moises snorted, "It's useless. Mom couldn't reach him either, not even when she was sick."