Chapter 2 - The Dark History
I stared at the decaying newspaper clipping until the horrible words blurred together into a terrifying mess of ink.
The article detailed a horrific incident involving Linda’s very first child, a baby boy born two years before Ryan.
According to the police report, the helpless infant had suffocated after a massive amount of liquid was forcefully poured over his face while he lay in his bassinet.
Linda had loudly claimed to the authorities that it was a tragic accident while she was warming a bottle, but the local detectives strongly suspected foul play.
I frantically flipped through the thick medical file tucked underneath the disturbing newspaper clippings.
It was an official psychiatric evaluation from a state mental hospital, dated just three weeks after the baby’s tragic death.
The doctor's official diagnosis was severe postpartum psychosis accompanied by highly violent, religious delusions.
Linda had firmly believed that her crying baby was a demon sent to drain her soul, and the crying was a sign of pure evil.
The terrifying medical notes stated she used gallons of milk to "purify" the child in a desperate attempt to force him to stop crying.
Suddenly, the brass handle of the office door rattled violently, snapping me back to reality.
"Sarah, open this door right now!" Ryan bellowed from the hallway, aggressively pounding his fists against the wood.
His voice was completely devoid of the gentle, loving warmth I had fallen in love with all those years ago.
"You lied to me!" I screamed back, clutching Noah tightly to my chest as he finally stopped crying and fell into an exhausted, traumatized whimper.
"You actually let that absolute monster hold my helpless son!" I sobbed, looking at the crusty white milk still drying in Noah’s soft hair.
"It’s not what it looks like, she was very sick back then, but she got the help she needed," Ryan pleaded, leaning his heavy weight against the doorframe.
"She deliberately poured a bottle all over him, Ryan!" I yelled, refusing to listen to his pathetic excuses.
"She was just frustrated, she would never actually hurt him," he rationalized, his voice dropping incredibly low and threatening.
I realized with sickening clarity that my own husband had knowingly brought an infant-killer into our home and purposely left her alone with our baby.
"Open the door, Sarah, or I’m going to break it down," Ryan warned, taking a few steps back to throw his entire body weight against the wood.
I looked around the small home office in sheer panic, realizing there was no secondary exit or escape route.
The single window had been painted shut years ago, and the heavy mahogany door was already starting to splinter loudly under Ryan’s brutal assault.
I quickly grabbed the medical file and the newspaper clippings, shoving them deep into the diaper bag resting on the leather chair.
With a final, deafening crack, the door frame splintered into pieces, and Ryan burst aggressively into the room.
He wasn't looking at me with love or concern anymore; he was looking at me like a massive problem that urgently needed to be erased.
Behind him stood Linda, looking perfectly healthy and holding a heavy iron fire poker she had grabbed from the living room fireplace.
"I told you she was entirely too nosy for her own good, Ryan," Linda whispered, her eyes completely devoid of human sanity.
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"Don't worry about it, Mom," Ryan said, stepping toward me with a chillingly calm and calculated expression on his face.
"We can always just have another baby once this one stops crying permanently."
