Page 22 of Maddening Fixation

My father never struck me himself. He never had to. He watched in silence while my uncles beat me until I bled, never once telling them to stop, never once stepping between us.

He watched my aunts humiliate me without once telling them to stop.

He heard servants raise their voices at me—servants who should never have dared—and never corrected them.

He saw visitors treat me with open contempt and looked away as though it were nothing.

Not once...

Not in nineteen years...

Did he ever defend me.

Not once did he look at me the way he looked at Sergei.

With pride. With approval. With love.

No matter what I achieved... No matter how hard I tried...

I was never his son.

I was only the living reminder of the wife he believed had betrayed him.

He walked straight past me without so much as a glance.

“Let the little murderer rot where he belongs.”

The words echoed through the entrance hall long after his footsteps faded.

The officers tightened their grip on my arms and hauled me violently to my feet.

Pain shot through every bruise and broken bone.

The officers dragged me toward the enormous front doors.

This time...

I didn’t fight.

The screams died inside my throat. The tears stopped falling.

As the great oak doors opened, a cold wind rushed into the manor.

I looked back one final time.

The family portraits watched silently from the walls.

And somewhere upstairs...

The room where Sarah had taken her final breath stood empty.

Goodbye, little sister.

The thought came without words. Without sound.

I’m sorry. I failed ye.

The police cruiser door slammed shut with a deafening clang.