Reficul's Playground

I’m sorry, Mrs. Willis, but your son

is gone. We’ve done all we can, but he’s suffered far too significant cerebral damage. Whatever happened to you son, I can assure you this was no accident…

That was months ago, and even as

48-year-old Jenifer Willis sat in her den, relaxing with her husband, Christof, she felt a tear escape down her cheek in painful remembrance and mourning for

her baby boy, Langston. He had been only five, and now, she’d never see his beautiful smile again, never hear his childlike laughter ringing through the household, and never feel him grip her tightly in his arms. He was truly gone.

“Honey, what’s the matter?”

Christof questioned her. “You’re not still thinking of the….boy…are you?” he asked, his face twisting in disgust as he spat the word boy, bitter like acid spilling over his tongue.

She shot him a look of helplessness. She never understood why Christof had a problem with her baby

boy. Sure, he wasn’t the biological father of him, or her 17-year old son Jackie, for that matter, but sometimes to her it felt as if he was angry at her for missing her son, as if he was glad to be rid of him. Feeling silly, and shaking such evil

thoughts from her mind, she spoke softly.

“Don’t start Christof. Just don’t.”

She detached herself from his

embrace before making her way into the

kitchen, Christof hot on her heels. As she went to pour herself some tea, she felt

strong, muscled arms wrap around her waist. Christof placed a soft, chaste kiss to her neck.

“I’m sorry baby,” he cooed. “You know what thinking of our baby boy does to me. Have you considered…you know… what we talked about?”

Jenifer whipped her head around

briskly, shooting him daggers before

ripping away from him, slamming down her tea cup, beverage forgotten.

“Are you seriously still trying to

convince me that replacing my baby boy is a rational solution to my heartache? Are you insane!” she exclaimed furiously.

She turned to exit the kitchen,

disgusted with the way he was acting when she suddenly felt a tight grip around the base of her throat. Before she even had time to react, Christof had flung her back against his hard body roughly.

“Now listen here, bitch,” he began,

voice deep and frighteningly low, “you’re lucky you’re even still here after what you did and you know it. You’ll respect me as the man of this house and watch the way you speak to me. I’m sick of your goddamned tears. I’m getting you a new little bastard, and hopefully it’ll shut you the hell up. Understand?”

Jenifer shook her head quickly, and

Christof released her before stomping out of the kitchen, grabbing his coat and keys, slamming the front door on the way

out.

She stood there for a moment,

mouth agape and beyond shocked. In the

six years they’d been married, Christof had never once laid a hand on her, no matter what kind of altercations they had gotten into.

“He must be tired,” she spoke aloud.