“Bye honey” were the last words I said to my husband before
he went on a business holiday, my stepson Tommy ran to the front door to hug
his dad’s leg begging him not to go. “I don’t want to be stuck with HER” he
screamed. “It’s Angie sweetheart or mum” I politely snapped back, Tommy staring
daggers at me. Before a fight broke out my husband kissed both of us and packed
his suitcase into the taxi heading for the airport.
I closed the door with a heavy thud, we lived in the richest neighborhood in the biggest house with the biggest rooms and the biggest
wardrobe a wife could ask for, all thanks to my husband I’m the perfect trophy
wife. Of course this is his second marriage, his first wife couldn’t cope with
the concept of being a stay at home trophy wife. All she needed to do was clean
the house, look pretty and of course raise their hell raiser son, that’s when I
came along.
I was a well to do single women, I’d never been married why I
would?
I’ve always been pretty and used my looks to get what I
want, it’s never failed me. So when I saw how rich I mean funny and handsome he
was, all I had to do was show a little skin and he would be mine. After dating
for a month or so he finally popped the question and of course I said yes, when
we arrived at his home we discovered that his first wife had gone insane from
all the pressures of what a women should be expected to do so the only natural
and caring thing to do was to commit her to a mental asylum where she can get
“better”.
I went about my day as usual, clean, clothe and feed Tommy
and try to act like I care about him. “mum?” Tommy said innocently, I had never
heard him call me mum before “yes dear” I said in a singing motherly way “I
love you” he whispered while a small tear dropped down his left cheek. I
started to cry as well, finally admitting I’m a mother to him I swoop in to
comfort my surrogate son.
Little did I know while we were in sweet embrace a grin was
forming in his face?
“Mommy there’s something under my bed” he felt emotionally
free now “well dear let me see what’s under there”. Moving from the kitchen we
go upstairs to his room, I open the door to a simple children’s room with a
small bed in the middle, Tommy standing at the door squealed “mummy can you
look under my bed”. “Of course dear”.
Crouching down below his bed I look around to
see what’s below when suddenly I blacked out
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