Chapter 3 - Gathering My Starving Son From Beneath The Furniture
I ignored their venomous words, my eyes locked entirely on the dark mahogany console table across the room. Beneath the heavy wooden overhang, a pair of bare, bruised little feet peeked out from the shadows.
"Liam, sweetheart, come to Mommy," I choked out, my voice cracking as hot tears spilled over my cheeks. I dropped to my knees on the cold marble floor and crawled toward the dark recess.
As I drew closer, the stale, sour smell of neglect and unwashed clothes hit me like a physical blow. Liam shrank further into the wall, whimpering softly like a terrified animal cornered by hunters.
When I finally reached out and gently pulled him into my arms, my heart shattered into a thousand pieces. He weighed practically nothing, his little ribs pressing sharply against my palms through his tattered, stained shirt.
"Mommy's here, baby, I've got you," I sobbed, pressing his matted curls against my chest. Liam looked up at me with sunken, hollow eyes that had lost all their childish sparkle.
"The lady said I wasn't allowed on the white sofa," Liam whispered hoarsely, his voice dry from lack of water. "She said I'm dirty and I belong on the floor with the dogs."
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Across the room, Noelle clicked her tongue in utter annoyance at the emotional interruption. "Honestly, Claire, stop making a scene over a bit of dirt; children need discipline," Noelle barked dismissively.
I stood up slowly, holding my precious, starving son tightly against my heart as white-hot rage surged through my veins. The woman who had birthed my husband was a cold-hearted tyrant, and my husband was her willing accomplice.
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