I came home early and found my wife fainting on the sofa while my mother sat nearby, ignoring the baby’s frantic cries and eating a meal my wife had been forced to cook. My mother looked at her unconscious body and muttered, “Drama queen.” I realized then that the woman who raised me was a monster. What I did next left her shocked...

My thumb pressed the numbers so hard the screen of my phone cracked slightly under the pressure.

The emergency operator answered on the very first ring.

Before she could even ask for the nature of my emergency, I began shouting my address into the receiver.

My mother stood up so fast that her heavy wooden chair scraped violently against the hardwood floor.

"Put that phone down immediately," she demanded, her voice devoid of any maternal warmth.

I turned my back to her, shielding my sobbing newborn son and the unconscious body of my wife.

"My wife is unresponsive, pale, and her skin is ice cold," I told the operator in a panicked rush.

My mother lunged across the coffee table and tried to snatch the phone right out of my hand.

I shoved her backward with my shoulder, the force sending her stumbling into the television stand.

"You are overreacting and embarrassing this family," my mother hissed, straightening her pristine cardigan.

I ignored her entirely and followed the operator's instructions to check Clara's pulse.

It was terrifyingly weak, fluttering under her pale skin like a dying bird.

Sirens echoed down our quiet suburban street less than three minutes later.

Two paramedics burst through the front door, their heavy boots tracking mud onto my mother's precious rug.

They immediately dropped to their knees beside Clara and began hooking her up to an array of monitors.

One of the paramedics, a tall woman with sharp eyes, paused and sniffed the air.

She looked over at the dining table where my mother's half-eaten plate of food still sat.

"Who cooked that meal?" the paramedic asked, her voice suddenly tense and suspicious.

My mother crossed her arms and glared at the woman.

"My lazy daughter-in-law finally decided to do her duties," my mother sneered.

The paramedic looked at me with an expression that made the blood freeze in my veins.

“Which daughter is yours?” should have been a harmless question

The first wineglass shattered at 8:07 p.m

The moment the mafia boss’s wife called me “an illiterate servant,”

"Your wife didn't just faint from exhaustion," the paramedic whispered.

"Her pupils are pinpoint, and her breath smells heavily of crushed beta-blockers."

Chapter 1 - The Emergency Call