Sour Milk

She looked across the table at him, “They got it wrong, you know, money isn’t the root of all evil; the heart is.”

He did nothing to hide his slight grin. She had confirmed what he had already known.

But the reassurance still twisted the double-edged sword inside. The rumors were true. And now he was left to choose how to go about cleaning up the mess his husband had left behind. That damn bastard. Dead.

Dead.

It continued to echo throughout the chambers of his mentally imagined heart. Death and betrayal. But when it all came down to it, it was his fault. He had pushed. He had grabbed. He had taken. And now it was his time to pay. Typical karma.

He cleared his throat, crossed one leg over the other. Uncrossed them. “I suppose it was always meant to be this way.”

“But he’s still your kid, too. Legally, you are the primary caregi-”

“That doesn’t matter. If it did, Ray wouldn’t have tried to do all this, to have gone to such an extent to guarantee that I would never see Oliver again.” His precious son.

They had chosen the name with the thought of peace in mind. The olive branch was extended between them after a tumultuous period of trying to start a family. You’d think with all the money he had that it wouldn’t have been so damn difficult. Yet it wasn’t the first time he had been taken advantage of due to his fine assets.

The first years of parenthood were consumed by little Oliver and his big needs. Everything was so new. Everything was so fragile. Everything needed to be under control constantly to ensure optimal development. And as time went on, he became even more possessive of the child they finally had.

“Let’s take him out to the park for fresh air?”

“He could catch pneumonia, Ray.”

“Let’s invite some friends over to socialize!”

“They could bring in a super virus.” He rationalized.

“Let’s eat out somewhere, I’m tired of delivery.”

“There could be a robbery, or shooting, or a clumsy waiter dropping boiling soup on our son! Are you mad!? Are you that stupid Ray? Careless?”

He could only see catastrophe. And so home became a house which he turned into a fortress, a prison. Something he could control.

Ray began slipping. Though who could blame him?

But to sell his child? His child!? Where was the sense in that?

And then to be all dramatic and drive the Bentley into the river. How unoriginal.

“And yet after it all came to light, he still took the fall. Okay, he loved Oliver and wanted to get him away from your obsessive control,” She instinctually pulled on another tight curl, deep in thought. A terrible habit for an investigator. “But why would he save your image? That’s what I still don’t get…”

Because he still loved me. The damn dead bastard.

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This story was originally written and posted on my Medium account for the First Line Fiction Publication. It was honestly a hard one, and I sat on it for a while. Maybe confusing, but also so are relationships and people. Would love to get feedback on this one!