He said he would change.
I went to him. Crying. Shaking. Begging.
I had found all of the evidence I needed.
Women’s underwear stashed in the back of his sock drawer. Messages from women he was seeing. Scratches on his neck, and when he thought I wasn’t looking, I saw the ones on his back.
As you can imagine, I was beside myself.
“Baby, listen, I will love you no matter what. BUT- I can’t live like this. I need you to stop doing this. Please, baby. For me.”
He was shaking, knowing he’d been caught and not wanting to get thrown out, he nodded his head.
“Do you promise? No more. Please, my love. No more.”
He nodded his head again and hugged me. His head rested against my chest as he heaved a sob.
“I’m so sorry, mama.” He cried. “I promise. I’ll stop. I’ll stop.”
A mother knows. She knows when her child is lying to her, and she knows when he’s telling the truth.
He was telling me the truth.
I wiped my eyes and his, and I kissed his head.
“Get some sleep, baby. I love you.” I left him in his room and shut the door.
I held it together pretty well until I got to my bedroom, and then I felt myself falling apart. My husband tried to comfort me, but I couldn’t tell him what was wrong. Father’s are never as understanding as mother’s. I didn’t want to lose my boy. I couldn’t.
Things calmed down after that. No more panties. No more messages. No more scratches on his body.
I was so relieved. For the next two years, a weight was lifted from my shoulders.
18 rolled around, and my boy was applying to colleges. He had an academic scholarship to any school he wanted to go to. I was so proud.
Everything was perfect. Everything was perfect.
But, as with anything else, things don’t stay perfect forever.
My perfect little world was shattered when my neighbor’s daughter went missing. She was only 6 years old.
I tried my best to hold out hope that they would find her alive and well, having wandered off of her own accord. But I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
When they found her dead, I collapsed.
Pain shot through my chest. I opened my mouth to sob but all that escaped it was a scream. I clutched my chest, digging my nails in, hoping that the pain would wake me from this horrific nightmare.
The blood on my fingertips brought me out of my stupor.
I went to my bedroom, determined to put an end to this, I grabbed my husband’s gun.
When I walked into my son’s room he looked up at me and smiled. For a fleeting moment, I saw my little boy. I saw the cowlicks in his hair, his big, dopey smile, his round, blushed cheeks. I saw the sweet little man who made all of his toys growl, who loved to climb, and was always getting boo-boos for mama to kiss.
For that moment, I couldn’t do it. I knew I couldn’t do it.
“Mama?” He asked, voice shaking. “Why do you have dad’s gun?”
I swallowed. I thought of that little girl. Of how her parents remember her exactly as I remember my son, but they will never get any new memories.
“SHE WAS A CHILD!” I roared, voice horse and thick with tears.
“Mama- I didn’t-“
“DON’T LIE TO ME. DON’T YOU FUCKING LIE. YOU SAID YOU WOULD STOP. YOU SAID YOU WERE DONE. SHE WAS A CHILD!”
I pointed the gun at him, hands shaking. He backed against his wall and put his hands in front of his face.
“Mama- I swear. I’d never hurt a kid. Please.”
I felt like he was telling me the truth. In my heart. I felt like he was being honest.
But- a mother never wants to see the evil in her children.
I pulled the trigger.
I couldn’t explain what I’d done to the police. They couldn’t know what my boy did. I killed my son in cold blood, and no one knew why.
I’d done the right thing. I put an end to a serial killers reign. It would feel good, if the killer hadn’t been my little boy.
I got a call from my husband last week. Another little girl had gone missing, and been found dead.
I hung up without a word.
He was telling me the truth.