Mark Crumbles
"I..." Mark gaped, eyes darting wildly. Under my piercing stare and Susan’s icy gaze, his defenses shattered. His frame sagged, then he doubled over, hands clutching his head, unleashing a ragged wail: "Enough! Stop!" He slid down the cabinet to the floor, curling into a ball, shoulders heaving. No righteous fury—pure collapse. Mark huddled there, sobs muffled. Finally, a broken whisper emerged. "Yes... the report was fabricated..."
Hatred of Children
He lifted a tear-streaked face, gaze vacant and tormented. "I... couldn’t bear children, Jennifer... truly couldn’t!" He shook his head violently. "When Susan got pregnant... I... lost it! I never wanted fatherhood! I despise children—their shrieks, their chaos! They destroy lives! I... craved freedom! Just us, in peace!" His eyes met mine, twisted with plea. "I couldn’t lose you! I knew you wanted kids... but I loathed them! I had to... forge that report... to keep you!"
Abandoning the Mistress
Each word gouged my heart. Susan stood motionless, holding the frightened child, her face a mask of frozen sorrow. Mark gasped on, rambling incoherently: "Susan... refused to abort... insisted on keeping it... I vanished... changed numbers... cut all ties..." He tore at his hair. "I thought... hiding... would end it... she’d understand..." He slumped like refuse.
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