The Caged Wife's Flight Plan - Chapter 6: Chapter 6
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The world stood still for a heartbeat. A deafening silence swallowed everything before reality came crashing back.
After that suspended moment, chaos erupted. The servants who'd been watching from the sidelines now scrambled toward us in panic.
Miraculously, I wasn't seriously hurt. At the last possible second, the car had swerved violently, plowing into the roadside flowerbed in a shower of dirt and petals. The scene looked like something from a nightmare, and Stephan stood frozen in shock.
For all his bravado and mischief, he was still just a terrified ten-year-old boy. The consequences of his reckless "joke" finally hit him, and he burst into tears. He clung to me like a lifeline, burying his face in my clothes as sobs wracked his small frame.
"I didn't mean it!" he wailed between gasps. "I just wanted to scare you! Mom, what do I do? Will the police take me away? Please hold me..."
After eight long years of waiting, I finally heard him call me "Mom." Not in some tender moment, but here - amidst twisted metal and trampled flowers.
Isn't that always the way? People only remember their mothers when they're drowning in regret, when the world becomes too cruel to face alone.
I pried his cold little fingers from my clothes. "I'm not your mother," I said, my voice steady despite the storm inside me.
Eight years. Eight years of pouring every ounce of love into this child who wasn't mine. Eight years of hoping he'd grow into someone happy, someone worthy. But being a stepmother meant walking a knife's edge.
A single frown from Stephan brought an avalanche of accusations - from Sonny's relatives, Monroe family associates, even the household staff. Every stumble, every tantrum became my failure. No one saw the midnight vigils when he was sick. No one acknowledged the birthday parties I planned or the scraped knees I bandaged.
The wail of an ambulance shattered my thoughts. Paramedics rushed to extract the injured driver as Sonny materialized behind me, his expression unreadable. "You're unharmed," he observed.
I shook my head and nudged the still-sobbing Stephan toward him. "Your son needs you more. I know the Monroe name can smooth over anything - even attempted murder by a ten-year-old. But tell me, Sonny, is this really the heir you want for your empire?"
The truth was simple: Sonny mourned his late wife by refusing to have more children, yet couldn't be bothered to raise the one she left behind. He'd rather cycle through replacements - women like me - than be a father. Stephan's behavior wasn't just my failure as a stepmother; it was Sonny's monumental failure as a parent.
I saw the flicker in Sonny's eyes before he extended his hand. "Meredith, I know you've suffered. But Stephan's just a child - he needs his mother. Come home. I'll help you discipline him properly this time."
Then Kenzie appeared, draping her coat over my shoulders with exaggerated care, making sure I saw the love bites trailing down her neck. "Don't worry, darling," she purred. "You'll always be the legal wife. I'm just here to handle Sonny's... social needs."
The staff chimed in like a Greek chorus: "Madam, don't be upset! See how much Mr. Monroe and young master need you!"
The irony was almost beautiful - this twisted family drama playing out beside the wreckage Stephan had created. The flowers would grow back. The car could be replaced. But some damage, I knew, ran far deeper than crushed petals or bent metal.
After that suspended moment, chaos erupted. The servants who'd been watching from the sidelines now scrambled toward us in panic.
Miraculously, I wasn't seriously hurt. At the last possible second, the car had swerved violently, plowing into the roadside flowerbed in a shower of dirt and petals. The scene looked like something from a nightmare, and Stephan stood frozen in shock.
For all his bravado and mischief, he was still just a terrified ten-year-old boy. The consequences of his reckless "joke" finally hit him, and he burst into tears. He clung to me like a lifeline, burying his face in my clothes as sobs wracked his small frame.
"I didn't mean it!" he wailed between gasps. "I just wanted to scare you! Mom, what do I do? Will the police take me away? Please hold me..."
After eight long years of waiting, I finally heard him call me "Mom." Not in some tender moment, but here - amidst twisted metal and trampled flowers.
Isn't that always the way? People only remember their mothers when they're drowning in regret, when the world becomes too cruel to face alone.
I pried his cold little fingers from my clothes. "I'm not your mother," I said, my voice steady despite the storm inside me.
Eight years. Eight years of pouring every ounce of love into this child who wasn't mine. Eight years of hoping he'd grow into someone happy, someone worthy. But being a stepmother meant walking a knife's edge.
A single frown from Stephan brought an avalanche of accusations - from Sonny's relatives, Monroe family associates, even the household staff. Every stumble, every tantrum became my failure. No one saw the midnight vigils when he was sick. No one acknowledged the birthday parties I planned or the scraped knees I bandaged.
The wail of an ambulance shattered my thoughts. Paramedics rushed to extract the injured driver as Sonny materialized behind me, his expression unreadable. "You're unharmed," he observed.
I shook my head and nudged the still-sobbing Stephan toward him. "Your son needs you more. I know the Monroe name can smooth over anything - even attempted murder by a ten-year-old. But tell me, Sonny, is this really the heir you want for your empire?"
The truth was simple: Sonny mourned his late wife by refusing to have more children, yet couldn't be bothered to raise the one she left behind. He'd rather cycle through replacements - women like me - than be a father. Stephan's behavior wasn't just my failure as a stepmother; it was Sonny's monumental failure as a parent.
I saw the flicker in Sonny's eyes before he extended his hand. "Meredith, I know you've suffered. But Stephan's just a child - he needs his mother. Come home. I'll help you discipline him properly this time."
Then Kenzie appeared, draping her coat over my shoulders with exaggerated care, making sure I saw the love bites trailing down her neck. "Don't worry, darling," she purred. "You'll always be the legal wife. I'm just here to handle Sonny's... social needs."
The staff chimed in like a Greek chorus: "Madam, don't be upset! See how much Mr. Monroe and young master need you!"
The irony was almost beautiful - this twisted family drama playing out beside the wreckage Stephan had created. The flowers would grow back. The car could be replaced. But some damage, I knew, ran far deeper than crushed petals or bent metal.
End of The Caged Wife's Flight Plan Chapter 6. Continue reading Chapter 7 or return to The Caged Wife's Flight Plan book page.