I Am Not a Murderer Mom

"Crawling to the end of this red carpet is exactly fifty steps. Bark like a dog, and it's ten thousand a step."

Alex, holding a cigar between his fingers, contemptuously slapped the check against my face. "Five hundred thousand. That should be enough to cure that bastard you gave birth to, right?"

Amidst the roaring laughter of the celebrities filling the room, I did not retort.

Meeting the disgust in his eyes, I dropped heavily to my knees right onto the floor littered with broken glass shards.

"Woof."

A dry bark squeezed out of my throat, and pressing my hands into the glass shards, I crawled one step forward.

The fingers holding Alex's cigar suddenly froze for a second.

The next second, the shiny tip of his leather shoe viciously stomped on my bleeding fingers, grinding them down hard. "So cheap right out of prison. It really makes me sick."

A piercing pain shot through my fingers. I bit down hard on the tip of my tongue until it bled, dragging two bloody trails as I continued inching forward.

Fifty steps. Five hundred thousand.

I didn't care that my dignity was being trampled to pieces beneath his foot.

Because the high and mighty Alex had no idea—

That the little boy lying in the emergency room, the one he kept cursing as a "bastard," the one being pushed to the brink of death by thrombosis...

Every drop of blood flowing in his bones was his. Alex's blood.

1

The iron gates of the prison clamped shut behind me as a blizzard mixed with ice shards whipped against my face.

It was freezing, but I couldn't help the corners of my mouth curving up.

As the blizzard engulfed the sky, I shivered and shrank into myself, yet my heart couldn't help but leap with joy.

I would get to see my son, Leo, soon.

Three years in prison... I wonder how he has been doing in the orphanage?

Two all-black SUVs parked horizontally right outside the police line. Five or six men wearing press badges charged over, and camera flashes overwhelmed my vision.

"Elena! Three years ago, out of jealousy, you deliberately pushed Mr. Alex's childhood sweetheart, Madeline, down the stairs, putting her in a coma. How do you feel being released today?"

"We hear Ms. Madeline has recovered and is preparing for her wedding with Mr. Alex! Do you have any thoughts on this?"

"Look at the camera! Rumor has it that during your relationship with Mr. Alex, you had a child who is now in an orphanage. Will you continue to raise him?"

A long-handled microphone jabbed heavily into my chin.

Not far away, a few teenage punks sped over on motorcycles. Before I even noticed, they threw snowballs mixed with dirty water at me.

With a loud thud, a hard ice ball struck precisely on the corner of my forehead.

"Ah—"

I clutched my forehead as warm blood trickled down my brow bone and into my eye.

The punks sped off quickly with malicious jeers, but my heart only swelled with a wave of helplessness.

Madeline still hadn't let me go.

Three years ago, jealous that I was going to marry Alex, she directed and staged that fall from the building.

Ultimately, at the cost of breaking one of her own legs, she successfully framed me for attempted murder, sending me to prison.

And Alex.

That strategic mastermind partner at a top Manhattan law firm, the man I once deeply loved.

Not only did he fly into a blinding rage, personally submitting the evidence to court that nailed me with the "intentional homicide" charge, but he also denied in court that Leo was his flesh and blood.

Taking one look, it was obvious Madeline had forged that evidence. But Alex, who had always cherished this "girl-next-door," had completely lost the reason needed to tell the difference.

For the past three years in prison, I was picked on by guards and beaten by inmates—all of it was Madeline's doing.

I just didn't expect that even after my release, she still wouldn't let me off the hook.

I didn't respond to the reporters. Instead, I kept my head down and forcefully shoved my way through the crowd.

A battered old Ford sedan pulled up in front of me.

The window rolled down to reveal Nora, the social worker in charge of my son Leo's case.

"Get in! Hurry!"

I scrambled into the passenger seat in a sorry state.

Nora stepped on the gas to shake off the reporters and handed me a pack of tissues to wipe the blood. "If I didn't come to pick you up, they would have eaten you alive today."

"Thank you... Take me to see Leo." My voice was trembling slightly.

Nora tightened her grip on the steering wheel and sighed. "His condition worsened last month. He's not doing very well right now, so you need to be mentally prepared."

Hearing this, my heart jolted.

Leo's health was already poor to begin with, and now it had actually gotten worse?

Just how bad was it?

I opened my mouth to ask more, but Nora said, "The test results aren't out yet," so I had to swallow my questions.

Half an hour later, I was standing in the corridor outside a hospital ward.

Through the barred, one-way glass window, I finally saw my Leo.

He was only four years old but so thin he was nothing but skin and bones. The oversized hospital gown hung loosely on his frame, and an IV catheter was inserted into the back of his hand.

Sitting on the floor mat in the playroom, he reached out for the last green crayon in the box.

A taller, sturdier boy next to him snatched the crayon away and shoved the sick Leo hard.

"You can't have it! My mom says your mom is a bad lady, a murderer!" The little boy threw the crayon at Leo, his childish voice full of malice taught by adults. "We don't want to play with a murderer's baby!"

Leo swayed from the push and bumped into the cabinet behind him.

He didn't cry and he didn't fight back. He just silently hugged his knees with the hand bearing the IV needle, lowered his head, and curled himself up into a tiny ball.

My breath hitched instantly.

My nails dug fiercely into my palms, my knuckles turning a deathly pale white, as the strong metallic taste of blood spread in my mouth.

Like a madwoman, I wanted to push the door open, rush in, and hold him, but Nora gripped my shoulders tightly from behind. "You just got out of prison and haven't regained visitation rights yet! Making contact with Leo now will only get your guardianship revoked!"

Hearing Nora's words, it was as if all the strength had been drained from my body. I collapsed into the chair beside me.

The door to the ward was suddenly pushed open, and a doctor wearing a name badge walked in, holding a lab report.

"Who are you?" the doctor asked.

Nora immediately said, "She is Leo's mother. Elena, this is our director; he is in charge of Leo's lab results."

"You're Leo's mother?" The director frowned tightly and handed the test report to me. "You're just in time. His thrombosis complications have hit a critical low; he must have surgery immediately."

"The surgical schedule is extremely tight. Within three days, you need to secure a $500,000 medical deposit, or else the hospital will have to give his slot to someone else."

I looked at the dense, abnormal red text on the lab report, my hands shaking so badly I could barely hold the thin piece of paper.

That night, I used my last few dozen bucks in cash to rent a short-term, unheated room on the outskirts of Queens.

I sat on the bare spring mattress and pulled out my phone, which only had 12% battery left.

My trembling gradually subsided.

I walked over to the yellowed bathroom mirror and looked at the woman inside—her forehead swollen and bleeding, her cheekbones hollow.

"Don't beg him. Begging won't do any good," I told the person in the mirror.

Once, twice.

But my hand couldn't help but open the contacts list, my finger hovering over the number I had memorized by heart.

It was Alex's private number.

Other than him, I couldn't think of anyone else in all of New York who could help me save Leo now.

Outside the window, the blizzard seemed intent on crushing the entire city.