My Mother Made Him A Slave

My mother once spent fifty million dollars to build a secluded, fully immersive nineteenth-century estate in the remote mountains of Montana. She did it to convince my father he had lost his mind and slipped through time.

It was her revenge. Years prior, when my father tried to file for divorce, he had hired people to expose her affair online, nearly driving her lover, Joshua, to a nervous breakdown.

So, my mother trapped him. Once inside her twisted historical replica, my father was sold into the estates darkest quartersan underground parlor catering to the depraved fantasies of the ultra-rich. When he tried to run, they shattered his leg. For three years, he was forced to live as an indentured servant. A slave.

Three years later, my mother finally pulled off the mask. She stood over him, looking down at his broken body kneeling on the floor, and smiled. She asked him how it felt to be nothing but a dog for all those years. She asked if he had finally learned his lesson.

My father pressed his forehead against the hardwood. His voice didnt carry a single tremor of emotion as he whispered, "Whatever my Lady commands."

My mother froze for a fraction of a second, but then her smile returned, smug and satisfied.

I threw myself into my fathers arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

He held me tight, his tears dropping hot and fast into the crook of my neck. He whispered that he was so sorry, that he had to leave me soon, but that he would make sure everything was taken care of before he did.

1.

I thought he was just talking out of grief. After all, anyone who had survived what he just went through would be pushed to the edge.

I clung to his neck with a death grip, choking on my tears. "Dad, where are you going?"

He didn't answer right away. He gently wiped my cheeks with his calloused thumbs before speaking in a voice so soft it felt like a ghost.

"You might not understand this, Fallon."

"I was written into this world. I was bound to a System, sent here with one directive: to help your mother build her empire."

"Now that her company has gone public, my assignment is over. I can go back."

"I wanted to wait until you were grown, but now..."

He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

I was eight years old. I didnt understand what he meant by being "written into this world," or what a "System" was.

But I understood one thing with terrifying clarity.

If he left, I would never see him again.

"Can I come with you?" I begged.

My father opened his mouth to speak, but the sound of footsteps echoed behind us.

My mother walked in. She was still wearing the elaborate, corseted Lauran gown she had worn for her grand reveal, holding her iPhone like she had just stepped off a movie set.

"The car will be here any minute."

She placed a hand heavily on my fathers shoulder. Her tone was unnervingly gentle, sickeningly sweet.

"Simon, I havent forgotten how you supported me when I had nothing. As long as you don't cause any more scenes, I will never let anyone take your place as my husband."

"Go home. Learn to get along with Joshua. We can go back to being the loving family we used to be."

My father lowered his head and bowed his shoulders.

His eyes were as dead and empty as a dried-up well. There was absolutely nothing left behind them. "Rest assured. This servant knows his place."

The black SUV arrived.

My father limped toward the passenger door. He moved agonizingly slowly, dragging his shattered leg behind him. The sole of his shoe scraped against the pavement, a dry, grating sound that made my chest ache.

My mother glanced back at him, her gaze faltering for just a second.

I grabbed a fistful of my fathers jacket and trailed behind him. He used to walk so fast. I always had to jog to keep up. He used to turn around, walking backward with a huge grin, calling out, Hurry up, Fallon! Then he would wait for me to crash into his legs and scoop up my hand.

Now, he could barely stand straight.

We arrived at the Chicago estate.

Joshua was standing on the front steps, holding a six-month-old baby in his arms.

Joshua was my uncle. My fathers own younger brother.

He had moved into our house three years ago. He wore the finest designer clothes, drove the best cars, and had the household staff calling him "Sir."

The baby, Toby, was his and my mothers illegitimate son.

Joshuas eyes swept over my father, a mocking smile playing on his lips. "Welcome home, brother."

My father looked at the baby in Joshuas arms. His hands, hanging limply at his sides, curled into tight fists. But his eyes remained a void.

Slowly, his knees buckled, and he dropped to the ground.

"This servant greets the Master."

Joshua froze.

When the shock wore off, a cruel, breathless laugh escaped his lips.

My mothers face darkened immediately. "Simon, youre home now. You don't have to play the servant anymore."

Joshuas smile vanished, a flicker of raw hatred flashing through his eyes.

"Yes, ma'am," my father replied, his voice painfully submissive.

My mother sighed, rubbing her temples. "Lets just go inside."

The moment we stepped into the grand foyer, I saw my grandparents sitting in the living room.

My grandfather was flipping through a copy of Forbes. My grandmother was pouring tea. The coffee table was adorned with an elaborate fruit platter, heavily featuring imported strawberriesJoshuas favorite.

Joshua handed the baby to a nanny and hurried over to the sofa, looping his arm affectionately through my grandmothers. "Mom, Dad. Look who's back."

Upon seeing my father, my grandmother slammed her porcelain teacup down onto the glass table with a sharp clack.

Her face was a mask of cold disgust. "You caused enough of a scandal three years ago. Now that you've crawled back, I expect you to keep your head down."

"Because of your little stunt, the internet is still calling Joshua a homewrecker. Youve dragged the Garrison family name through the mud!"

My grandfather didn't even look up from his magazine. He just casually turned the page. "If you were half as understanding as Joshua, you wouldn't have ended up in this pathetic state."

I stood next to my father, my tiny fists trembling.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell them that he had been locked away in a nightmare for three years. That his leg was broken. Why wasn't anyone hugging him? Why wasn't anyone asking if he was okay?

But I swallowed the words.

The last time I said something bad about Joshua, my grandmother slapped me across the face. She called me a feral brat and said my father had poisoned my mind.

Beside me, my father dropped to his knees again.

"This servant begs for forgiveness."

The living room fell into a suffocating silence.

My grandmother scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Oh, please. Hes just playing the victim to get sympathy."

My mother stepped forward, patting my fathers trembling shoulder. "Mom, Dad. Simon has been out there for three years. He hasn't readjusted yet. Give him time."

She turned to me. "Fallon, take your father up to your room so he can rest."

"Okay," I whispered. I grabbed my fathers ice-cold hand and led him up the sweeping staircase.

From the living room, my grandmothers voice drifted up, sharp and grating. "Don't coddle him, Laura. Hes always been painfully stubborn. Ignore him for a few days and he'll snap out of it."

I closed my bedroom door.

The moment the lock clicked, it was just the two of us.

Instantly, the cowardly, vacant look in my fathers eyes vanished, replaced by a razor-sharp clarity.

He dropped to his good knee and cupped my face in his hands.

"Fallon. Give me your smartwatch."

I blinked in surprise, but quickly unbuckled the pink watch and handed it over.

He dialed a number from memory.

It picked up on the second ring.

"Victor."

I knew that name. Victor was my fathers private wealth attorney.

"I need you to set up an irrevocable trust in Fallons name. Transfer everythingthe real estate, the equity, the liquid cash. All of it."

"And Victor... start preparing Fallons immigration papers. Get her out of the country."

When he hung up, my father pulled me into his chest, burying his face in my hair.

His embrace felt exactly the same as it always had.

Warm. Safe. Home.

2.

That night was the first time in three years I slept without waking up crying.

But when I opened my eyes the next morning, the bed beside me was empty.

"Dad!" I panicked, my voice shaking as I sprinted barefoot out into the hallway.

Ahhh!

A blood-curdling scream erupted from the master bedroom. It was Joshua.

Seconds later, Tobys high-pitched wails pierced the air.

Joshua stumbled backward out of the bedroom, clutching Toby to his chest in pure terror. Blood was dripping down the babys arm.

"Simon! Please! If you want to kill someone, kill me! Don't hurt Toby! Hes innocent!"

My heart plummeted into my stomach.

By the time I reached the doorway, my mother had already sprinted out of her home office. My grandparents were practically falling over themselves as they rushed up the stairs.

My father stood inside the bedroom, his face deathly pale. A bloody fruit knife lay on the carpet at his feet.

He looked at the crowd gathering in the hall, his voice weak and desperate. "I just came to tell him breakfast was ready. I didn't..."

Smack.

My grandmothers hand collided with my fathers face.

His head snapped to the side, a red welt instantly blooming across his cheek.

"You psycho!" My grandmother shrieked, her hand still vibrating in the air. "That is your brothers child! How could you?"

"What kind of monster did I give birth to?!"

My grandfather stood rigidly behind her, his voice dark and heavy. "You tore this family apart three years ago, and on your first day back, you try to commit murder. Do you have any humanity left?"

My mother finished inspecting Tobys arm. She turned to look at my father.

Her eyes were overflowing with disgust.

"I thought three years in the Colony would have taught you some humility. I didn't realize you were still this venomous."

"It seems you need another tour."

At the mention of "the Colony," the dam finally broke. Stark, unfiltered panic seized my fathers eyes.

He threw himself to the floor, crawling on his hands and knees to grab the hem of my mothers slacks. His eyes were completely bloodshot.

"Laura, please. You have to believe me."

"I only came up here to tell him breakfast was ready, I swear to God I didn't touch the knife"

"If it wasn't you, then who? You expect us to believe your brother stabbed his own baby?" my grandmother roared. "Do you think we're stupid?!"

Joshua took a step back, clutching Toby tighter, tears streaming down his flawless face.

"Mom, Dad... please, don't yell at him..."

He lowered his head, his voice shrinking into a pathetic whimper. "Its all my fault..."

I stood there, watching my family tear my father apart, my entire body violently shaking.

"It wasn't my dad!"

I lunged forward, throwing my arms out wide to shield him.

"My dad would never hurt anyone! Hes never hurt a fly!"

My mother looked at me, then down at my father. Her expression was unreadable.

Then, Joshua spoke up, his voice dripping with faux-concern. "Do you think... maybe his mind finally broke?"

He shot my father a pitiful look. "I mean... after three years in a place like that..."

My mother flinched.

My grandmother latched onto the idea instantly. "Yes! Hes sick in the head! No sane person would do something like this!"

"He can't stay in this house," my grandfather declared. "Send him to the hospital for a psychiatric evaluation. If hes crazy, lock him up in an asylum before he kills us all."

My father dragged himself forward on his bad leg, his knuckles turning white as he gripped my mothers pants.

"Laura. Im not crazy. I swear to you, my mind is fine."

"Just let me stay with Fallon. Ill do whatever you want. Ill be whatever you want."

My mother stared down at him, her face completely blank.

"Take Toby to get stitched up," she ordered the room, her voice devoid of emotion. "Im taking him for an evaluation."

The fragile light left in my fathers eyes extinguished in an instant.

He crumpled, his body collapsing against the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.

"Dad! Dad!"

I screamed his name, shaking his shoulders with all my tiny might.

He didn't move.

My grandmother nudged his ribs with her shoe. "Stop faking it. Get up!"

"Don't touch him!" I shrieked so loudly it echoed off the vaulted ceiling. My grandmother jumped back in genuine shock.

"Have you lost your mind?!" Her face turned a mottled purple. "Is this how your father taught you to speak to your elders?"

"You don't even treat him like your son!" I sobbed, the words ripping out of my throat. "You only love Joshua! You never loved him!"

"You little"

My mother stepped back into the room.

She knelt beside my father and pressed two fingers to his neck.

All the color drained from her face.

"Call a doctor." She stood up, her voice cracking with sudden, raw panic. "Call a fucking ambulance! Now!"

At the hospital, they rushed him straight into the ER.

It felt like a lifetime before they finally moved him to a private room.

The attending doctor stepped out, giving my mother a look I couldn't quite deciphera mix of pity and profound judgment.

"The patients physical condition is catastrophic. He is suffering from severe, prolonged malnutrition and bodily trauma."

My mother stood in the fluorescent hallway, her face unreadable.

I ran into the room. My father was lying in the hospital bed, IV lines snaking into his bruised arms. He looked like a ghost.

He weakly lifted a hand and wiped the tears from my cheeks.

"Don't be scared, sweetheart. Dads okay."

He looked past me, his gaze landing on my mother standing in the doorway. He softened his voice. "Fallon, go wait outside for a minute. I need to talk to your mother."

I didn't want to leave.

But I forced my feet to move.

I didn't close the door all the way. Through the narrow crack, I watched my father look at the woman who had ruined his life. His eyes were steady, unyielding.

"Laura. Im sending Fallon out of the country."

3.

"Are you insane? Shes eight years old."

My mothers voice rose, laced with the indignant anger of someone who wasn't used to being defied.

"Is this another one of your tantrums?"

"Im not throwing a tantrum."

"I can accept sharing a life with Joshua. I will keep my head down, play my part, and never betray you."

He said it with a chilling emptiness, like he was reciting terms and conditions.

"But Fallon is not growing up in that house."

As he spoke, he pushed the blankets aside.

Barefoot, he stepped onto the cold linoleum floor. His bad knee buckled, and he dropped to the ground.

"I am begging you. Let her go."

He pressed his forehead to the hospital floor.

My heart shattered into a million jagged pieces.

"Dad," I whimpered through the crack in the door.

My mother stared at him. Her eyes were dark, her lips pressed into a thin, white line.

"Fine. She can go abroad," she finally said, her voice sounding hollow, as if coming from very far away.

"But you are staying."

I couldn't take it anymore. I shoved the door open and sprinted inside.

"I don't want to go!"

My father looked up, his eyes tracing the tears streaming down my face.

He reached out and pulled me into his chest.

He was so thin now. His collarbones dug painfully into my cheek, but his warmth was still there.

"Be good, Fallon."

He patted my back, slow and steady, just like he used to when I had a nightmare.

A few days later, they discharged him.

Back at the house, Joshua and my grandparents treated him like a ticking time bomb, fully buying into the narrative that he was a violent schizophrenic.

My father spent almost every hour in my bedroom. He held me. He read me stories.

But a heavy, suffocating dread sat in my chest.

At the dinner table, he would keep his head down, chewing his food with agonizing slowness, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

One evening, my mother set her fork down and cleared her throat.

"The companys tenth-anniversary gala is this weekend. Joshua will be attending as my plus-one."

"There will be a lot of press there. I have to think about Mercer Holdings' public image."

A fleeting look of triumph crossed Joshuas face, though he quickly masked it.

He lowered his head, his voice a perfect pitch of feigned innocence. "Laura... won't it look bad if Simon isn't there?"

"Whatever you decide is fine," my father interrupted quietly.

My mother looked at him, her mouth opening as if to argue, but ultimately, she said nothing.

The night of the gala, the house was entirely empty except for my father and me.

The late afternoon sun spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the plush carpets in strokes of gold.

My father was sitting on the sofa, a needle and thread in his hands, carefully stitching up a tear in my favorite stuffed rabbit.

I rested my chin on his knee, watching his deft fingers work.

"Dad? Do I really have to leave?" I asked softly.

His hands stopped. The needle hovered in mid-air.

"I don't want you to leave either," he murmured, his voice so fragile it felt like a heavy breath would shatter it. "But I don't have the time to watch you grow up anymore."

"Why don't you have time?"

"Because Dad has to go back home."

He said it so casually. Too casually for a goodbye.

I sat up straight and looked him dead in the eye.

"Can't you take me with you?"

"I would give anything to take you with me. But the System won't allow it."

He offered me a broken, bitter smile, and reached out to smooth my hair.

"Don't worry. Ive arranged everything with Victor. Hes going to take very good care of you."

"Hell handle your schools. Hell manage your trust. When you grow up, you can come back if you want, or you can stay over there forever. It's your choice."

"Study hard. Eat well. Sleep well."

"Don't trust people so easily."

"Never let anyone make you feel small."

"And if anyone ever bullies you"

He choked on the words. His eyes grew bright and rimmed with red, but he refused to let the tears fall.

Crash!

The front door was violently kicked open.

A group of unfamiliar men stood in the entryway.

The guy in the front wore a distressed leather jacket. A jagged scar cut violently across his face, running from his eyebrow down to his cheekbone.

Behind him stood three absolute mountains of men.

"Who are you?" my father demanded, a tremor finally breaking through his voice. "What do you want?"

The scarred man grinned, revealing a row of yellow, smoke-stained teeth.

"Someone paid us good money to take the man of the house on a little trip."

His predatory gaze slid from my fathers face down to me. The way he looked at me made my blood run cold.

I squeezed my fathers hand.

He squeezed back, pushing me behind his body.

"Ill go with you," my father said, his voice dropping into a dead, terrifying calm. "Just don't touch my daughter."

The scarred man tilted his head, sizing him up.

"Fair enough."

He flicked his wrist. Two of the giants lunged forward.

One of them grabbed my arm, ripping me away from my father. The other pulled out a roll of duct tape and zip ties. In seconds, my wrists were bound, and a piece of tape was slapped brutally across my mouth.

"Mmph!"

I thrashed wildly, but I was just a little girl. My struggles meant absolutely nothing to them.

"Fallon!"

My father surged forward, but the scarred man slammed a hand into his chest, shoving him back.

"Easy now," the man sneered. "You cooperate, and we won't lay a finger on the kid."

"What exactly do you want from me?"

4.

They shoved me into the coat closet.

When I finally woke up, it was the next day.

The internet had exploded.

#LauraMercerHusbandCheats #BillionaireCEO_Betrayed #SimonGarrison

Three trending hashtags dominated every social media platform. The views were in the billions.

Attached to the articles were blurry, highly explicit photos of my father and several strange men in a hotel room. His shirt was ripped open. His face was angled perfectly toward the camera.

The comment sections were a bloodbath.

"Laura gave him everything, and this is how he repays her?"

"Cheating with men? Disgusting. Hes damaged goods now."

"Divorce him and leave him with nothing."

"Poor Laura. Built an empire just to be backstabbed by a leech."

At 10:00 AM, Laura Mercer held a live press conference.

She stood at the podium in a razor-sharp charcoal suit. Her eyes were perfectly red-rimmed. Her voice was masterfully hoarse.

"I want to thank everyone for respecting my familys privacy during this time."

She bowed deeply to the flashing cameras.

"Regarding my husbands actions... I prefer not to comment extensively. He was with me when I had nothing. We survived a lot of hardships together. This was likely just a momentary lapse in judgment."

"I have decided to forgive him."

"After all, he is the father of my child."

The live chat erupted.

"Laura is a saint!"

"Shes taking him back?! Shes too pure for this world."

"Absolute queen behavior."

"Simon doesn't deserve her!"

I locked my phone screen. I looked up at my father, who was sitting quietly by the window, staring out at nothing.

A few days later, the news cycle moved on.

The house returned to a suffocating peace, as if the destruction of my fathers dignity had never happened.

Once my visa for London was approved, my father took me to the airport.

He handed my suitcase to the man standing next to me.

"Take care of her, Victor."

"I will," the lawyer replied. Victor was in his late thirties, a stoic, quiet man who radiated reliability.

"Take care of yourself."

Victor took my hand and led me toward the security gates.

As I boarded the plane, as the engines began to roar, I could have sworn I heard my fathers voice. It didn't come from the terminal. It felt like it was echoing out of the empty air.

"System. Please. Take me home."

"Goodbye, baby girl."

"Daddy loves you."