My Son Called Her Mommy

Before my hand could even reach the phone, Shannon slapped it away. "What do you think you're doing? Trying to call your accomplices, huh?"

Her sharp voice cut through the air like a knife, stabbing painfully into my ears.

The crowd around us jeered, their voices rising in a chorus of insults and accusations, crashing over me like waves. I hadn’t even fully processed what was happening when someone grabbed a rock from the ground and hurled it straight at me.

Pain exploded in my cheek as the rock struck me, and I felt the warm trickle of blood slide down my face.

I struggled to lift my head, using every ounce of strength I had left, and screamed, "Shannon Sinclair! I am Jeremy’s wife! I’m the mother of our son, Daniel!"

Hearing her name, Shannon froze for a moment, then let out a shriek. She lifted her stiletto heel and kicked me square in the face.

"Oh, really? You even know everything about us! This must be a part of some criminal ring!

"Let’s do the right thing today! Stand up for all the families who’ve had their children kidnapped!" she shouted again.

Before I could react, a few burly men pinned me down, holding me in place. Shannon picked up a metal pipe from somewhere and slowly began walking toward me.

With a loud crack, the pipe slammed into my back. The pain was so bad that it nearly knocked me out. My thoughts spun as a single question echoed in my mind: how could Jeremy bring this woman into our lives, into our son's life, after just a month of my being away?

At that moment, a middle-aged man snatched the pipe out of Shannon’s hand.

Shaking his head with disapproval, he said, "You're too soft. When dealing with someone like her, you’ve got to…"

Without finishing, he lifted the pipe high and brought it crashing down on my legs once, twice… After three times. I could feel my bones shatter under the blows.

The searing pain was unbearable, and I screamed at the top of my lungs, "Are you all insane? Do you even realize what you're doing?!"

"What are we doing? We’re beating a kidnapper, that’s what!" the middle-aged man answered, his voice self-righteous as he continued to strike. "Scum like you deserves to be torn apart!"

The pain made my vision blur and darken, and Shannon’s twisted face hovered above me.

She bent down to whisper wickedly in my ear, "Is that all you’ve got? Just wait until Jeremy gets here. Then, you’ll really understand what it means to suffer."

I mustered every ounce of strength I had left and spat a mouthful of blood-tinged spit in her face. "Oh, really? Let him come. Let’s see who’s really going to suffer! I’m going to ruin his company, take everything he has, and kick him out on the street with nothing. He’ll spend the rest of his life on his knees begging me for mercy!"

My words made Shannon’s face contort in rage. What had been just a twisted expression was now a full-blown mask of fury. "You bitch! How dare you have the nerve to talk back!"

"Did you all hear that?" she screamed to the crowd. "She’s still pretending! So what do you think? Should we make sure she knows what it feels like to lose her own child?"

The crowd, incited by her words, grew even wilder. The preschool teacher, who had been watching nervously, finally spoke up, "The school has called the police. They’ll be here any minute. Maybe we should—"

"Who cares? Everyone hates people like her! The police won’t say anything!" a shrill voice called out, and others echoed in agreement.