My Husband Let My Mom Die for His Side Chick - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
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Jacob's voice was frigid, but his words sent a surge of white-hot rage through me, choking me until I could barely breathe.
I'd thought he came to apologize—for his and Lucas's cruelty. Or maybe he'd finally heard about Mom's death and wanted to make amends.
But no. They were here to accuse her. Over a dog.
How dare they? My mother was dead because of them, and now they were dragging her name through the mud. They wouldn't even let her rest in peace.
I glared at him, venom dripping from my words. "Jacob Thompson, I don't give a damn about your mess with Emma. But if you ever slander my mother again—"
"See for yourself!" He shoved his phone in my face.
Security footage. A woman—face obscured, but her build, her clothes—just like Mom's—slipping into Emma's house. Then leaving, arms cradling something.
"The proof's right there. What's your excuse now? Abigail, tell your thief of a mother to return Emma's dog!"
I checked the date—and nearly laughed in his face.
Mom was already dead by then.
Emma's eyes welled up, her voice trembling. "Abby, after your mom came by yesterday… Buddy vanished. I know you both hate me, but Buddy didn't do anything wrong. Please… just give him back."
She dissolved into tears, the picture of heartbreak.
Lucas, ever her little knight, clumsily wiped her cheeks. "Don't cry, Emma! I'll beat up the bad guys for you!" Then he turned and kicked me—hard. "Bad mom! Tell bad grandma to give Buddy back, or I'll make Dad kill you both!"
My own son. Threatening to have me killed.
Jacob's face twisted in disgust. "Say something! You and your mother are ruining our son. Is this the example you want to set?"
"My mom didn't steal anything! What the hell do you want me to say?!"
I grabbed the nearest broom, swinging it wildly. "Get out! Take your precious Emma and your disgrace of a son, and get out of my house!"
The bodyguards tackled me.
They tore through the place—closets, boxes, every corner—leaving my once-tidy home in ruins.
On the couch lay Mom's half-finished sweater for Lucas. They tossed it in the trash like garbage. "Who'd wear this outdated crap anyway?"
That sweater—stitched with her own hands, every loop filled with love—trampled.
I fought free, lunging for it, screaming, "That's hers! How dare you—!"
The white yarn was smudged with dirt.
Emma blinked, confused. Jacob shielded her, cold as stone. "It's just a sweater. Your mom can knit another. It's not like it's gold."
A bodyguard whispered in his ear. Jacob's face darkened. He gestured—two men seized me, dragging me toward the door.
I thrashed. "Where are you taking me?! Let go! Jacob, you psycho—!"
His eyes were ice. "Since you won't confess, I'll show you proof. Then we'll see if that righteous act holds up."
Proof? Of what? We'd done nothing wrong.
They hauled me to a burial mound.
Jacob's voice was a blade. "Still playing innocent?"
I stared. That was Mom's grave.
Was he serious? Had he just realized she was dead—and now he was mad at me for not telling him?
Emma paled. "Jacob… what is this?"
His jaw tightened. "Buddy's buried here."
I snapped. "Bullshit! That's my mother's grave!"
No tombstone yet—just fresh earth. Local custom demanded three years before the stone went up.
Jacob scoffed. "Liar. Someone saw you sneaking here at night. You and your mom killed Buddy and hid him here."
I'd come at night because I missed her. Because I needed to talk to her.
But Jacob wasn't listening.
"Fine. If you won't admit it, we'll dig. Then you'll have nothing left to say."
He motioned to the bodyguards. Shovels in hand.
My world shattered. I threw myself over the grave, screaming, "STOP! Don't you touch her! Please—please—don't do this…"
I'd thought he came to apologize—for his and Lucas's cruelty. Or maybe he'd finally heard about Mom's death and wanted to make amends.
But no. They were here to accuse her. Over a dog.
How dare they? My mother was dead because of them, and now they were dragging her name through the mud. They wouldn't even let her rest in peace.
I glared at him, venom dripping from my words. "Jacob Thompson, I don't give a damn about your mess with Emma. But if you ever slander my mother again—"
"See for yourself!" He shoved his phone in my face.
Security footage. A woman—face obscured, but her build, her clothes—just like Mom's—slipping into Emma's house. Then leaving, arms cradling something.
"The proof's right there. What's your excuse now? Abigail, tell your thief of a mother to return Emma's dog!"
I checked the date—and nearly laughed in his face.
Mom was already dead by then.
Emma's eyes welled up, her voice trembling. "Abby, after your mom came by yesterday… Buddy vanished. I know you both hate me, but Buddy didn't do anything wrong. Please… just give him back."
She dissolved into tears, the picture of heartbreak.
Lucas, ever her little knight, clumsily wiped her cheeks. "Don't cry, Emma! I'll beat up the bad guys for you!" Then he turned and kicked me—hard. "Bad mom! Tell bad grandma to give Buddy back, or I'll make Dad kill you both!"
My own son. Threatening to have me killed.
Jacob's face twisted in disgust. "Say something! You and your mother are ruining our son. Is this the example you want to set?"
"My mom didn't steal anything! What the hell do you want me to say?!"
I grabbed the nearest broom, swinging it wildly. "Get out! Take your precious Emma and your disgrace of a son, and get out of my house!"
The bodyguards tackled me.
They tore through the place—closets, boxes, every corner—leaving my once-tidy home in ruins.
On the couch lay Mom's half-finished sweater for Lucas. They tossed it in the trash like garbage. "Who'd wear this outdated crap anyway?"
That sweater—stitched with her own hands, every loop filled with love—trampled.
I fought free, lunging for it, screaming, "That's hers! How dare you—!"
The white yarn was smudged with dirt.
Emma blinked, confused. Jacob shielded her, cold as stone. "It's just a sweater. Your mom can knit another. It's not like it's gold."
A bodyguard whispered in his ear. Jacob's face darkened. He gestured—two men seized me, dragging me toward the door.
I thrashed. "Where are you taking me?! Let go! Jacob, you psycho—!"
His eyes were ice. "Since you won't confess, I'll show you proof. Then we'll see if that righteous act holds up."
Proof? Of what? We'd done nothing wrong.
They hauled me to a burial mound.
Jacob's voice was a blade. "Still playing innocent?"
I stared. That was Mom's grave.
Was he serious? Had he just realized she was dead—and now he was mad at me for not telling him?
Emma paled. "Jacob… what is this?"
His jaw tightened. "Buddy's buried here."
I snapped. "Bullshit! That's my mother's grave!"
No tombstone yet—just fresh earth. Local custom demanded three years before the stone went up.
Jacob scoffed. "Liar. Someone saw you sneaking here at night. You and your mom killed Buddy and hid him here."
I'd come at night because I missed her. Because I needed to talk to her.
But Jacob wasn't listening.
"Fine. If you won't admit it, we'll dig. Then you'll have nothing left to say."
He motioned to the bodyguards. Shovels in hand.
My world shattered. I threw myself over the grave, screaming, "STOP! Don't you touch her! Please—please—don't do this…"
End of My Husband Let My Mom Die for His Side Chick Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to My Husband Let My Mom Die for His Side Chick book page.