Snowbound Punishment: A Six‑Year‑Old's New Year's Eve
Wendy Lloyd's first love, Hudson Clark, treats me like a walking blood bank. Because of that, I end up dying in the rented apartment Wendy has given to me out of contemptuous pity.
Today is the third day of my death. My six-year-old son, Terry Heath, finally realizes that something is wrong with me.
When he accidentally cuts his finger from playing with his toys, I don't coax him at all.
When he tears open a pack of cookies and feeds one to me, I don't stop him at all.
When he lies in my arms and grips me by the hem of my shirt while calling out to me softly, I don't respond to him at all.
Feeling rather uneasy, Terry finds my phone and calls Wendy.
"Mommy, why is Daddy still asleep?"
Wendy responds by sending a photo of her and Hudson enjoying a holiday feast together. She then says coldly, "He's just asleep, not dead. Today is Christmas Eve, so I'm very busy right now.
"Tell that arrogant father of yours that he's only free to visit me whenever he's ready to acknowledge his mistakes."
After that, the call ends. Terry is left feeling stunned for a long time.
Finally, he digs out the last cookie from the trash can and snaps it in half. Then, he feeds it to me again.
"Daddy, let's eat."