A Quiet Knife
Marcus was a man of contradictions. To the world, he was charming, clean-cut, a professional with soft-spoken intelligence. But to those closest, his soul rattled like a locked drawer filled with blades. He had cheated on his wife, Emily, several times—each time justifying it with lies about stress, temptation, loneliness. Yet he'd always return to her, smiling, kissing her forehead like he was some war-torn hero coming back from emotional battle.
Emily, fragile in her silence, knew of the infidelity. She'd known for months before the confrontation came. But that wasn't what truly shook Marcus.
It was her fear.
Not of him—but of the maid's son, Kale.
A boy no older than twenty, barely speaking, always with a solemn face like he knew things children shouldn't know. Marcus noticed the way Emily looked at Kale—not with affection or familiarity, but with guilt. Raw, aching guilt. As though the sight of the boy pried open a wound she couldn't close.
One night, as Emily folded baby clothes in their dim bedroom, Marcus sat watching her, a tumbler of scotch in hand.
"Why are you afraid of Kale?" he asked suddenly.
She froze. Her hands trembled, but she didn't look up.
"I'm not," she whispered.
"You flinch when he walks by. You close the nursery door when he's home."
Still, she remained quiet. Marcus' throat tightened. He felt the familiar sting—paranoia, suspicion, jealousy—all the dark notes that underscored his fragile masculinity.
"You slept with him?" he spat.
Emily looked up then. Not in fear—but in pity.
"That's your baby in there, Marcus. But it's not your soul. You lost that a long time ago."
That night, he didn't sleep. The idea clawed at him—his wife, the perfect woman he thought belonged to him, feeling fear over another man's child. Marcus was the kind who believed his ownership of Emily was eternal, divine. If he cheated, it was weakness. If she did, it was betrayal. And yet, she hadn't even confessed anything. It was just that look—so foreign, so shattering.
Plot Twist #1: Kale wasn't the father. Marcus was. But Emily made Marcus believe otherwise to protect the baby from him.
The next week, Marcus snapped. They were arguing Emily had asked him to go to therapy. That word, therapy, was a war drum to his ears.
"I'm not broken," he barked. "You're the one afraid of a child!"
"You tried to strangle me in your sleep," she said quietly. "Three nights ago."
His face turned grey. He hadn't remembered. But he didn't deny it.
In a fit of blurred rage, he struck her. Not hard enough to kill. But hard enough for the scream to echo through the walls. Hard enough for Kale to hear, and barge in, pulling Emily away.
That act—Kale's sudden protection—burned Marcus like acid. He saw the boy as a threat, a shadow, a thief of his woman and now his child.
Plot Twist #2: Kale was Emily's younger half-brother; the result of an affair Emily's father had. She never told Marcus.
The final night came silently.
Emily was brushing her hair in the nursery, the soft hum of lullabies playing. The baby was asleep in her belly—only two months away from birth. Marcas entered with calm precision, carrying a kitchen knife in a towel.
He didn't speak.
He moved behind her.
She saw the reflection. She turned.
Her mouth opened.
The knife went down.
One thrust. Clean. Into her throat.
Emily collapsed sideways into the crib. Blood soaked the yellow onesie folded on the edge.
Marcus stared at the horror, breathing hard. He felt nothing. Only silence.
He wrapped her body in a sheet, dragging it to the garden. He buried her with shaking hands, planting her wedding bouquet on top like a twisted offering.
The police never found her. He told them she ran off.
But Kale knew.
Years passed. Marcus changed cities, names, and lives. But shadows don't dissolve—they wait.
And one day, a letter arrived. No return address. Just one line:
"She sang to him even in death."
Marcus woke the next morning to the smell of burning.
His mother's body lay crumpled in their kitchen, flames licking her hair.
He dropped to his knees.
Revenge had arrived. Kale had found the only thing Marcus had ever truly loved.
And taken it.
The cycle was complete.
But justice? Still silent. Still watching.