My Husband Killed His Own Son Thinking It Was Mine

The New Year's Day family gathering. The kids convinced my son to wear the bulky Red Pony costume.
They rode him, kicked and beat him, and finally buried him alive in a snowdrift.
I went hysterical, screaming for someone to call the police, only to have my relatives accuse me of harming my own child.
My husband stood right there, trying to talk me down.
"Just sign the waiver, Amy. It was an accident. We can't let the kids face charges and ruin their futures."
After they successfully framed me, I broke. I remember walking into traffic and the sudden, blinding impact.
The next time I opened my eyes, I was back. Back to New Year's Day.
I immediately called my mom, urging her to come get my son.
"Leo, you're sleeping at Grandma's tonight. Don't come back."
They had just cleared the gates of our Stone Creek Estates community when I turned and saw the red pony costume.
My heart seized. I scanned the yard.
All the cousins, my in-laws children, were accounted for. Every one of them was here.
So, the costume that had appeared out of thin air... who was inside it?
1
The pony costume staggered forward, and a muffled voice called out.
"Daddy."
I whipped my head around. The costume was facing my husband, Ryan Foster, who was standing with a few male relatives, smoking and laughing.
I quickly checked the yard again.
My sister-in-law Savannah's son was building a snowman, my Aunt Carol's twins were having a snowball fight, and the others were playing in small groups. All accounted for.
Did... did Leo sneak back home?
The thought sent a shudder of icy terror through me.
"No, no," I whispered to myself, fumbling for the phone in my pocket.
I had to call my mother, to be sure.
Suddenly, a large hand shot out and snatched the phone away.
"The guests are here, Amy. What are you doing, standing around like a ghost?"
Ryan had walked up behind me without me noticing.
"Go greet people. Did you check on the stew in the kitchen?"
I was about to speak when my sister-in-law, Savannah, hooked her arm through mine, leaning in with a sickeningly familiar intimacy.
"Hey, sis. Come inside for a minute. I need to talk to you, just a heart-to-heart."
This was too familiar.
In the last life, Savannah had used this exact "heart-to-heart" excuse to lure me into a guest room and lock me in for nearly an hour.
When I finally got out, I only saw the children throwing snowballs at the snowman. My son, trapped inside that red costume, was already dead.
That memory ripped through me. I violently yanked my arm free from Savannah and bolted toward the pony costume.
But before I could take two steps, Aunt Carol and two other female relatives closed ranks around me.
"Whoa, Amy, what's with the attitude?"
Aunt Carols heavy frame blocked my path. She smiled, though her eyes were hard.
"Savannah wants to chat, and youre acting like this?"
"Seriously, its New Year's. We rarely get the whole family together," Tiffany, my cousin-in-law, grabbed my other arm.
"Come on, let's go inside and catch up. Its freezing out here."
They were a human wall, pushing me back toward the house.
I struggled, but the combined strength of the three women made me completely immobile.
I twisted my head back toward the yard. The children had surrounded the pony costume.
"Ride the pony! Ride the pony!"
Savannah's son shouted the words first. Several boys rushed the clumsy costume, shoving it down onto the snow, then climbing on top.
One, two, three... they all piled on.
The costume struggled feebly in the snow, unable to get up.
"Stop it!"
I shrieked, shoving Aunt Carol out of the way with every ounce of strength I had.
"Get off! All of you! You're going to hurt him!"
Ryan intercepted me, his expression annoyed.
"They're just playing, Amy. Why are you making such a big deal out of nothing?"
"It's a holiday, don't be a buzzkill."
My mother-in-law, Helen, walked over, her face set in a frown.
"Let Leo play with his cousins. Its for his own good; he needs to integrate into this family. If you hover like this, how will he ever bond with his extended family?"
"That's not..."
I wanted to scream that wasn't my son, but the two sisters-in-law were now 'supporting' me, one on each side.
They were smiling, but their grips were firm and painful, and they steered me back inside, forcing me down onto the living room sofa.
"Just relax, Amy. Take a seat."
I was breathing hard, not from effort, but from sheer terror.
The current scene was a perfect, chilling echo of the last life.
The same blocks, the same excuses.
I forced myself to calm down. I retrieved my phone and quickly typed a message.
"Mom, where are you and Leo now?"
A moment later, my mother replied.
I tapped the voice note and held the phone to my ear.
It was Leos voice.
"Mommy! Grandma and I just got home!"
"Grandma says she's making dumplings tonight! When are you coming back?"
I slumped back against the sofa, relief washing over me in a dizzying wave.
Thank God. It wasn't my son in the costume.
But then, who was lying out there in the snow?
2
The pony costume began to shake again, and a muffled, frantic sound came from inside.
"Let me go, let me go..."
Savannah's son shrieked with excitement.
"Bury him! Bury him up to his head!"
The children obeyed instantly. Snow chunks quickly covered the pony's back, then its legs.
The costume was still struggling, but the movements were becoming weaker and weaker.
Even though it wasn't my son, it was still a person.
My conscience wouldn't allow me to stand by and watch.
"Make the children stop! Burying someone in the snow is dangerous!"
I jumped up and yelled, but everyone around me simply laughed it off.
Aunt Carol nonchalantly cracked a sunflower seed.
"Oh, come on. What kind of trouble can kids get into? We all played like this when we were little."
Tiffany handed me a cup of hot tea, her smile sweet and gentle.
"Leo isn't even asking them to stop, Amy. Why are you so worried? Let them have their fun."
Helen gently patted my shoulder.
"Amy, your mother-in-law needs to say this. Boys need to be toughened up; don't make him so soft. Look at Ryan when he was a boyall that roughhousing, and he turned out fine."
Every word was so familiar.
They had said the exact same things in the previous life.
Ryan sat down next to me, lowering his voice in a warning tone.
"Amy, if you make a scene, you're embarrassing me. It's a holiday; don't ruin the party for all the relatives."
I stared at him, feeling utterly disconnected.
His eyes held no concern, no urgency, only impatient, cold reproach.
"Aren't you worried?" My voice was trembling.
"What if something goes wrong? That's your son."
Ryan chuckled, a dismissive, dry sound.
"You're too stressed. Nothing is going to happen."
A deep, chilling thought began to take root in my mind.
From Savannah pulling me away, to Aunt Carol and Tiffany blocking me, to Helen's dismissive advice, and now Ryan's heavy-handed control.
It was too smooth, too coordinated.
It felt like a perfectly rehearsed play, where everyone knew their lines and their positions.
Could they be doing this on purpose?
The idea was terrifying, and I shivered uncontrollably.
Outside, the snow was still falling, and the pony costume hadn't moved in a while.
Savannah glanced at the clock and called toward the yard.
"Okay, time's up... everyone come back inside for lunch!"
The children ran back toward the house. Taking advantage of the sudden chaos, I darted outside.
Hold on, kid. You've got to hold on. I prayed silently.
I clawed the snow away with my bare hands. A small arm slid out of the costume's sleeve.
The hand was tiny, about the size of a seven or eight-year-old's.
It lay limply on the snow, the skin a disturbing blue-tinged purple.
The relatives immediately gathered around, and when they saw the scene, a stunned silence fell over them.
Someone finally whispered.
"Is... is he dead?"
3
Savannah, being a nurse, knelt down and felt for a pulse.
Everyone held their breath, waiting for her verdict.
After a few seconds, she slowly let go of the arm. The small hand flopped lifelessly back onto the snow.
"No pulse. He's gone."
A wave of children's screams immediately broke the silence.
The adults rushed to comfort their own kids, their faces pale with panic.
In the confusion, Ryan's voice cut through the noise.
"Jason, lock the front gate."
"Don't let the neighbors hear anything. It's the New Year. We don't need gossip."
His brother hesitated for a moment, then hurried toward the yard gate, sliding the heavy security bolt shut.
Ryan's gaze swept over the bewildered children.
"Everyone inside. Upstairs. Go to the game room. Remember, you didn't see anything today. You were just playing in the snow, understood?"
His tone was not a suggestion; it was an order.
The children exchanged glances. A few of the younger ones were already crying, but the older kids pulled them along, and they soon disappeared up the staircase.
I finally managed to gather my wits. My trembling hand reached for the pony costume's head.
I had to see who it was.
Suddenly, Ryan shoved me hard. I stumbled and fell onto the frozen ground.
His face was a mask of artificial grief and fury.
"Now you care? Why didn't you watch him earlier? Now that something has happened, it's all your fault!"
Helen's wailing followed, perfectly timed.
"How many times did I tell you, with all these people here, don't let the kids run wild! You didn't listen! Now this happens, are you satisfied?"
The others quickly joined the chorus of accusation.
"That costume is so hot and stuffy! I told you not to let him wear it! Why didn't you, as his mother, listen to us?"
"That's right, we all said it was dangerous, but you said it was 'festive' and 'just a game'..."
One after another, the relatives acted out their parts like actors following a script.
Each face held the same expression of sorrowful blame.
I understood now. They were re-enacting the script from my previous life, determined to pin the blame for "my son's death" entirely on me.
I struggled to my feet, glaring at the group.
"You're twisting the truth! You did this. You all killed him!"
They immediately looked irritated.
Ryan grabbed me and dragged me back inside the house.
"Amy, you are primarily responsible for this."
Savannah had already printed a document and now handed it to me.
Ryan jammed a pen into my hand, pointing to the paper.
"Just sign it. We can't let the children get criminal records because of an accident."
My eyes fell on the paper. It was a Waiver of Liability for Accidental Death.
I hereby acknowledge that due to my own negligence, the child suffered an accidental death during play, and I voluntarily waive the right to pursue any responsibility from family or friends, committing not to call the police or file a lawsuit...
I looked up at him, my expression cold.
"You know perfectly well it wasn't me."
Ryan lowered his head, patiently trying to persuade me.
"The child is dead, Amy. Do you really want to drag the whole family down with you?"
The relatives nodded and sighed in perfect unison.
Helen gripped my hand, her face full of false pity.
"Amy, your son is gone, I know you hurt. But don't make the other children suffer permanent psychological damage. They're just so little, you can't ruin their lives..."
Aunt Carol chimed in.
"We're all family. Going to court would be a terrible spectacle for everyone. The child's soul wouldn't want to see the family tear itself apart."
When I didn't react, Ryan's voice went flat and hard.
"If you don't sign, you are the murderer who killed your own child. Everyone here will testify that you made him wear the costume. That you killed him."
I shifted my gaze from their faces back to the snowdrift in the yard.
In the struggle, a corner of the costume had flipped up, revealing a sneaker.
Dark blue running shoes with a white stripe on the side.
Not Leo's shoes.
I raised my head, looking at my so-called 'family' one by one.
"Are you all so sure the person who died is my son?"
Everyone froze for a second, then they burst into relieved, condescending laughter.
"Who else would it be?"
Savannahs eyes were still red from the forced tears, but her voice was back to normal.
"Didn't you bring the costume? Didn't you put it on Leo?"
Helen wiped her eyes, nodding firmly.
"Yes, we all saw you put it on him with your own hands."
A lie repeated a thousand times had become their truth.
They had convinced themselves of the story they invented.
I looked at Ryan.
His gaze flickered, but he quickly regained his composure.
I took a deep breath and asked the question that had haunted me for two lifetimes.
"Ryan Foster, because Leo isn't your biological son, you don't care that he's dead. Is that it?"
The air in the room solidified.
Everyone knew Leo was my son from my first marriage.
In the year since I married Ryan, he had played the part of the perfect stepfather.
I knew he was a mama's boy and overly devoted to his sister, but for a second marriage, I was willing to tolerate those flaws as long as he was good to my child.
I never imagined he would become this.
Ryan stared blankly, his eyes wide. He violently shook his head.
"Amy, you're distraught! Don't say such crazy things!"
But his panic was all the proof I needed.
Helen was the first to react. She suddenly spun around and rushed into the kitchen, returning with a knife.
"Are you signing or not? Sign it, and this goes away. Don't sign..."
Her eyes were fixed on my hand.
I remembered the last life.
When I refused to sign, she had hacked off two of my fingers.
They had told the police I was mentally disturbed and had self-mutilated during an argument with my son.
Everyone backed up the story.
This time, I didn't resist. I gave a small nod.
"I'll sign."
4
A collective sigh of relief filled the living room as I finished the signature.
Ryan patted my shoulder gently, a look of satisfied relief on his face.
"There. It's over. Let's clean up and... handle the body."
The word 'handle' sounded as casual as if he were talking about cleaning up a dead fish.
My eyes involuntarily drifted toward the window.
"I want to see..."
I took a step toward the door.
Ryan's arm quickly blocked my way.
"Don't look."
His voice dropped low.
"It will only make it harder. Let Sav and them handle it. She has experience."
Has experience.
That phrase made my stomach clench.
I looked up at him.
"Can we call the police now? A child is dead. We have to report it."
Ryan's expression froze for a moment. He then put his arm around my shoulder and guided me back to the couch.
"Amy, you just signed the waiver, remember? It was an accident. We can manage this ourselves; why make a public spectacle?"
He paused for a heartbeat, his voice dropping even lower.
"The accidental death policy for Leo... are you the beneficiary?"
My breath hitched.
He hadn't asked that question in the previous life.
Last time, I was too busy screaming and trying to call the police, and they were busy restraining me and managing the scene.
But now, Ryan brought it up.
I looked into his eyes, which were too close, and saw the cold, calculated gleam of an opportunist.
"Yes." I nodded slowly.
"I'm his birth mother. Of course, I am."
Ryan's eyes immediately brightened.
"The payout should be around eight hundred thousand dollars. I need you to promise that once you receive the money, you'll transfer it to Sav."
Ryan's tone was utterly entitled.
"She found a perfect condo in a great school district, but she's just short on the down payment. We're family, we have to support each other."

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