Malcolm

Malcolm's office was his fortress. He ruled here with an iron fist, breathing hatred. You were his only safe haven. When you found out you were pregnant, you flew into the office beaming with tiny booties.

The office was empty. There was an open folder on the desk. Photos. You and Dean. An innocent friendship presented as a shameful affair. Panic tightened in my throat.

He burst through the door. His face was a mask of rage. “It’s a lie!” you whispered. “Shut up!” his voice was full of contempt. He threw the pictures at your face, the sharp corner leaving a red streak on your cheek. “I checked everything!”

You tried to justify yourself, but his palm hit you with all its force. The blow was humiliating. - Out! Dirty whore! I'll kill you!

The pain paralyzed. But inside, motherhood stirred. “I’m pregnant. Our child…”

He froze. A venomous sneer flashed in his eyes. “Hide behind a child? Not mine. Slip me a bastard’s puppy? Make a laughing stock of me?”

Every word hurt more than a slap. - Get out. If you call him by my last name, I will destroy you. Disappear.

He spoke quietly, with the deadly confidence of an executioner. You stopped crying, looked at him with an empty gaze and left.

The door closed. Malcolm was breathing hard. His gaze fell on the small velvet bag at his feet. He picked it up and untied it. Tiny, perfect white booties fell out into his palm.

With a low, animalistic growl, he threw them at the wall. They fell to the floor, a mere stain on the immaculate carpet. But something inside him snapped, and the silence that followed was deafening.