That kitchen confrontation was three weeks ago—the night the sheer stress forced Anna into premature labor.
He thought kicking his mother out the very next morning would finally bring them peace. But tonight, she broke back in.
He woke up to the sound of his newborn screaming.
Sprinting down the hallway, he burst into the dimly lit nursery. Bathed in a cold, blue light, his worst nightmare was playing out.
His mother had Anna by the hair, violently pinning her against the white crib. The baby was wailing frantically, while Anna sobbed and struggled in her pale nightgown.
*”You will answer for this!”* his mother roared, her face twisted in pure, unhinged rage.
Something feral snapped inside him.
He charged across the wooden floor, grabbed his mother by the shoulders, and viciously hurled her away from his wife. She crashed hard against the massive wooden wardrobe, collapsing to the ground.
He immediately stepped in front of Anna, shielding her with one arm.
*”Stay away from her!”* he bellowed, his chest heaving.
But his mother didn’t cower. Instead, she leaned against the splintered wood, spat blood onto the floor, and started to laugh—a chilling, breathless sound.
“You think I’m the monster?” she wheezes, pointing a trembling finger at Anna. “I didn’t break in to hurt her. I came to stop her. Check the crib mattress. *Check it!*”
Anna’s body went completely rigid. She tried to pull away, but he was already reaching blindly under the baby’s blanket.
His fingers brushed against cold glass. He pulled it out.
A syringe. Half-empty. Filled with liquid antifreeze.
“She wasn’t crying because I was mean to her,” his mother whispered, tears streaming down her face. “I’ve been trying to keep her away from your food for months. Now she’s moved on to the baby.”
Slowly, he turned to look at his fragile, terrified wife.
The victimized tears were gone. Anna’s face was completely blank.
Then, her lips curled into a slow, terrifying smile.
“You really should have stayed asleep, honey.”