Love Dies in the Cold
Language: en
Dickie Duncan had a mistress. And she’d given him twins. He hid them well. But not well enough. So I took the children. Dickie’s retaliation was swift and savage. In the biting, twenty-three-degree cold, he tied our son, Leo, to a flagpole on a golf course and left him there for four hours. When I found him, his skin was a mottled, terrifying blue, his lips purpled. His breaths were faint, ghostly little puffs of air I had to press my ear to his chest to hear. “Dickie!” I screamed until my throat was raw, the taste of blood on my tongue. “Isn’t Leo your son, too?!” “And what about…