Chapter 4

They released me from the hospital a few days later with a handful of prescriptions and a referral to an oncology wing I couldn't afford. My arm was in a cast, my ribs were taped, and the bruises on my face had faded to a sickly yellow-green. I had nowhere to go. My bank accounts had been frozen by Mark, who had filed some sort of fraudulent claim against our shared assets. My car was a write-off.

I had no choice but to go back to the house to get my wallet, my clothes, my portfolio. My life.

When I arrived, Mark was waiting for me on the porch, looking like the king of a castle he hadn't built.

"Look what the cat dragged in," he said with a lazy smile. "Come to collect your scraps?"

"I'm here for my things, Mark," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Then I'll be out of your hair for good."

"Oh, I don't think so," he said, blocking the doorway. "Chloe is very upset. You caused a scene at the hospital. You stressed her out. And when Chloe is stressed, I get angry."

He stepped aside and gestured for me to enter. The moment I was inside, he slammed the door shut. The air in the house was thick with menace. Chloe was sitting on the couch, filing her nails, not even bothering to look up. Liam was nowhere to be seen.

"You think you can just walk away from the mess you've made?" Mark said, circling me like a predator. "You owe us. You owe Chloe for years of emotional distress. You owe me for having to clean up your professional disasters."

"I don't owe you anything," I said, my jaw tight.

Mark' s smile vanished. "Wrong answer."

His fist connected with my stomach, right on my taped ribs. The pain was explosive, stealing all the air from my lungs. I doubled over, gasping.

"You're pathetic," he spat. "You can't even stand up for yourself."

He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and dragged me into the middle of the room, forcing me to my knees. "You're going to apologize. You're going to admit what you are."

"I have nothing to admit," I wheezed, tasting bile at the back of my throat.

He kicked the back of my knees, sending another jolt of agony through my body. "Say it. Say 'I am a failure. I failed Chloe. I failed my son.'"

Chloe finally looked up from her nails, a flicker of interest in her eyes. "Make him say it, Mark."

I looked at her, searching for any sign of the woman I once loved. There was nothing. Just a cold, cruel stranger.

"No," I said, defiance hardening my voice.

Mark grabbed my broken arm, the one in the cast, and squeezed. A white-hot, sickening pain shot from my wrist to my shoulder. A raw scream was torn from my throat.

"Say it!" he roared in my ear. "Or I'll break the other one."

Under the torment, my will began to crumble. The combination of the tumor, the crash, and now this... it was too much.

"I... I am a failure," I choked out, the words feeling like poison on my tongue. "I failed Chloe... I failed my son."

The pressure on my arm eased. Mark let me go, and I slumped to the floor, panting and trembling.

"See? That wasn't so hard," he said, his voice sickeningly calm.

Just then, Liam came running down the stairs. He saw me on the floor and a look of pure contempt crossed his face. He was holding a small glass of water.

He walked over to me, and with methodical deliberation, poured the water over my head. It dripped down my face, into my eyes, cold and humiliating.

"You're bad," he said, his voice a perfect echo of his mother's. "You make mommy sad. You should be in the doghouse."

He then kicked my leg, his small shoe making a dull thud against my shin.

Chloe clapped her hands lightly. "Good boy, Liam. He needs to learn his lesson."

Mark nodded in approval. He then looked over at the front door, where a man I vaguely recognized as one of our neighbors, Tom, had just let himself in. Tom had always been friendly, always asking for my advice on his garden.

"Tom, good, you're here," Mark said. "Ethan was just admitting to being a deadbeat dad. Seems he feels pretty guilty about it."

Tom looked at me on the floor, then back at Mark. I saw a flicker of pity in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by something else: fear. Mark had gotten to him, too.

"Yeah, Mark was telling me about all the trouble you've caused, Ethan," Tom said, his voice strained. "It's a real shame."

Mark grinned. "Tom here thinks you need a more permanent reminder not to upset Chloe again."

Tom hesitated, looking uncomfortable. "Mark, I don't know..."

"Do it," Mark commanded, his voice low and dangerous.

With a look of pained apology, Tom walked over and kicked me in the side. It wasn't as hard as Mark's blows, but the betrayal behind it hurt just as much. He was another person who had chosen to side with the bully, another connection severed.

The pain was overwhelming. My head swam. The world started to gray out. I was a punching bag in my own home, humiliated by my son, my ex, my rival, and my neighbor.

As my consciousness started to fade, the last thing I heard was Mark's voice.

"Let him pass out. When he wakes up, we'll see if he's learned any real manners."

I surrendered to the darkness, a place where the pain couldn't reach me. It was the only escape I had left.