"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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