He Killed Our Daughters For Her
The school’s “escorts” stormed our home to take them. My daughters, my little girls, clawed at the door of the black SUV, their voices shrill with terror as they screamed for their father.
I was on my knees on the driveway, the sharp gravel digging into my skin.
“They’re only five, Ethan,” I begged, my voice shredding. “They’re just babies. A place like that will break them. It’s my fault, I’m their mother, I’m the one who failed to teach them. Punish me…”
But Ethan just stood there, his arm wrapped around her, watching the three of us with cold, detached eyes.
“If you hadn’t coddled them, they wouldn’t have turned into such entitled brats,” he spat. “I’m their father. If you can’t discipline them, I will. Do you really think I would ever let any harm come to them?”
The next day, when his sister and I finally reached the academy, we were met with the sight of our daughters’ small bodies, covered in deep purple bruises. They were no longer breathing.
And my husband? He was on Instagram, celebrating the fact that his high school sweetheart was pregnant with his child.
My eyes, empty of everything, turned to my sister-in-law.
“My babies are dead,” I whispered, the words feeling like sand in my mouth. “I have nothing left. Please, Sophie. Just let me go. I don’t want anything.”
1
By the time we got them to the hospital, there were no signs of life. They didn’t even make it to the emergency room; they were wheeled straight to the morgue.
Sophie looked at me, her gaze thick with a pity I couldn’t bear. She tried to find words of comfort.
“It’s going to be okay, Reagan. I promise. Grandfather and I are on your side. Ethan was wrong, completely wrong. I’ll make him come and apologize, and you two can…”
Her voice trailed off as I held my phone up to her face.
It was Ethan’s Instagram post from two hours ago. The caption read: “Before you even entered this world, Mommy and Daddy already loved you.”
The picture was an ultrasound. The name at the top was clear: Victoria Reed. Six weeks pregnant.
Victoria. The one he’d always wanted.
Sophie’s words choked in her throat. A moment later, her face flushed with rage. “I’m calling him right now. I swear to you, Reagan, the Lockwood family will make this right…”
A dry, bitter laugh escaped my lips. I hit dial on Ethan’s number myself and put it on speaker. He answered on the second ring, his voice already laced with irritation.
“Are you calling to cry about the girls being ‘mistreated’ again? They’re Lockwoods. Who would dare lay a hand on them? Stop playing the victim. I sent them to a school to learn some discipline. Is that a reason to blow up my phone every five minutes?”
He paused, then delivered the final blow. “You make me sick, Reagan.”
He hung up before I could say a single word.
The silence in the sterile hospital hallway was absolute. Every one of his cruel words had landed, sharp and clear, in Sophie’s ears.
Her face was as white as the walls around us. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. She had no more reassurances to offer.
I forced a smile that felt like cracking glass, and the tears I’d been holding back finally fell, hot and heavy.
“Please,” I whispered again. “I have nothing left. Let me go. I can’t do this anymore.”
Just as Sophie opened her mouth to reply, two police officers approached us.
“Are you the family of the deceased?” one of them asked, his voice gentle. “The administrators from the academy have been taken into custody. We need you to come down to the station and give a statement.”
The moment I walked into the precinct, I saw them—the men who had dragged my screaming children from our home the day before.
Something inside me snapped. A guttural scream tore from my throat as I launched myself at them, my grief turning into a blind, animalistic rage.
“You monsters! You’re monsters! They were five years old! How could you do it? How could you!”
Hands grabbed me from all sides, pulling me back. Sophie wrapped her arms around me, holding my collapsing body.
“Reagan, please,” she sobbed. “Let the police handle this. They’ll get justice, I swear. With the Lockwood name behind this, those bastards don’t stand a chance.”
The men, startled by my frenzy, huddled in the corner. One of them muttered with a sneer, “Not our fault the mother didn’t raise them right.”
Another one chimed in. “It’s how we teach all the kids. Spare the rod, spoil the child. Who knew these two were so fragile? Just our bad luck…”
My hand, trembling violently, pointed at them. The fire in my chest was about to consume me. I wanted to rip them to shreds.
A metallic taste flooded my mouth. I coughed, a spray of dark blood staining the linoleum floor, and then the world went black.
When I woke up, I was in a bedroom at the Lockwood estate. Sophie was beside the bed, her eyes red and swollen.
“Reagan, you’re awake. Don’t worry, we’re handling everything with the police. We will make sure those animals pay for what they did.”
My eyes were fixed on the ornate ceiling, seeing nothing.
“Please, let me go,” I said, the words a hollow echo. “I have nothing left…”
2
I knew the truth, of course. Those men at the academy were monsters, yes. But they were just the final instruments. The one who had personally delivered my daughters to that hell was Ethan.
The true architect of their deaths wasn't a stranger. It was their own father.
Sophie’s shoulders slumped. After a long moment, as if making a monumental decision, she whispered, “Okay. I’ll go talk to Grandfather.”
As I watched her leave, a sob finally broke through the numbness, a raw, ragged sound that carried all the pain of the last seven years. I cried until there was nothing left inside me.
I came to the Lockwood estate when I was eight, the same age as Ethan.
My grandfather and his, Arthur Lockwood, had served together in Vietnam. My grandfather saved his life on the battlefield, forging a bond of blood and honor between them. After my parents died in a car crash when I was a baby, my grandfather raised me. When he passed away eight years later, Arthur Lockwood brought me here, into his home.
To his credit, he and Sophie had always treated me like family. They were kind, generous, and loving. They made me feel like I belonged.
It was because of them that I stayed. For seven years of marriage, no matter how Ethan treated me, no matter how much of a bastard he was, I stayed. I built a home for him, bore his children, and managed his life.
I had accepted that he would never love me. But I thought that with my two beautiful daughters, my life would still have meaning.
Now, all of it was gone.
I don’t know how much time passed before Sophie returned.
“Grandfather wants to see you.”
When I entered his study, Arthur Lockwood was sitting in a heavy wooden chair by the window. The look in his eyes was one of profound sorrow.
“My dear girl,” he said, his voice raspy with age and emotion. “You are a good girl. Sophie told me everything. You’ve suffered too much these past years.”
He paused, taking a deep breath. “The cremation is tomorrow. After it’s done… you should go. That boy of mine doesn’t deserve you. He shouldn't be allowed to waste another day of your life.”
I said nothing. I simply walked before him and bowed deeply from the waist.
As I held the bow, tears dripped from my face onto the polished hardwood floor. I was grateful, so deeply grateful, for the twenty years of shelter and kindness this family had given me.
But I could never, ever forgive Ethan. I could never forgive the man who had murdered my children.
When I returned to my room, Ethan was already there, waiting. A smirk played on his lips.
“Well? Didn’t take you long to run to Grandfather and tattle, did it? Reagan, do you honestly believe that just because you have him and Sophie wrapped around your finger, I’ll ever want to be a real husband to you?”
The sight of him ignited a hatred so potent it was suffocating. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to send him straight to hell.
But then, I heard their voices, soft and sweet in my memory.
“Mommy, I love Daddy so much. He’s the most handsome dad in my whole preschool.”
“Mommy, we miss Daddy. Is he coming home to see us today?”
“We love you the most in the whole world, Mommy. And we love Daddy second most.”
Even in their last moments, as I held their broken bodies at that godforsaken school, the last thing they whispered to me was: “Mommy… don’t be mad at Daddy because of us. It was our fault. We were bad…”
I took a sharp breath and walked past him to sit on the edge of the bed, saying nothing.
My silence seemed to infuriate him. He grabbed me, throwing me back against the mattress and pinning my wrists above my head.
“What’s this new act?” he sneered. “You had Sophie call me, begging me to come home. And now you give me the silent treatment?”
He lowered his face to kiss me. I couldn’t break his grip, so I did the only thing I could. I bit down on his lip, hard.
He yelped in pain, releasing me and scrambling back.
“Reagan! Are you out of your goddamn mind?”
He wiped a smear of blood from his mouth. “This pathetic act is exactly how you manipulate Grandfather, isn’t it? Beg me to come back and then play these stupid games. It’s pathetic.”
He stood up, his face a mask of disgust. “It’s because of this fake, innocent bullshit that the girls are so…”
“The girls are dead,” I said, my voice quiet and steady, cutting through his tirade. I could taste my own blood where I’d bitten the inside of my lip.
3
Ethan froze, his expression hardening. Then, he let out a short, contemptuous laugh.
“Reagan, you’ll say anything, won’t you? Is this because you found out about Victoria’s pregnancy today? Are you really that desperate?”
Without another word, he turned and stalked towards the door. He paused in the doorway, his back still to me.
“You’re the one who wanted me to come home,” he said coldly. “Don’t go crying to Grandfather that I’m neglecting you. It only makes me hate you more.”
The door clicked shut, and the room was silent again. I stumbled into the bathroom and scrubbed at my teeth, trying to erase the ghost of his touch from my lips.
There was a time when Ethan and I were in love.
On my eighteenth birthday, he stood before me, the tips of his ears bright red with shyness.
“Reagan,” he’d stammered. “I want to take care of you. I don’t want to just be… like your brother anymore.”
The young man’s cheeks were flushed, but his eyes held a conviction that was intoxicating. In that moment, my heart melted. For the next few years, he treated me like I was made of glass. And I loved him with everything I had.
Then, when I was twenty-two, his grandfather summoned us to his study.
“You’re both of an age to marry,” Arthur had said, smiling warmly. “Reagan, my dear, your grandfather saved my life. I couldn’t bear the thought of you marrying into another family. What do you think of my boy, Ethan?”
From that day on, everything changed. Ethan’s affection, the tender intimacy we shared, it all vanished overnight.
I never understood what happened. He would never give me a reason.
A year into our marriage, I became pregnant with the twins. After that, he was barely home, spending his nights out, shamelessly parading Victoria around town.
I tried to fight, to argue. But he would just look at me with that same coldness, as if I were a hysterical stranger.
“You got what you wanted,” he’d say. “You’re Mrs. Lockwood. You’ve given the family an heir. What more could you possibly be crying about?”
Then, the final twist of the knife: “Stop acting like a victim in front of me. It’s disgusting.”
After that, I stopped asking for a reason. I accepted the reality. Ethan didn’t love me, and he didn’t love our children. I focused all my energy on the girls.
They were sweet, smart, and well-behaved. I thought that was enough. I thought watching them grow would be my happiness.
But now, even that has been taken from me.
The next morning, the cremation was quick and sterile. I stood outside the funeral home, holding two small, light boxes.
They were so tiny when they were born, sleeping peacefully in my arms. How is it that after five years, they’ve become even smaller, even lighter?
A burning sting filled my eyes, but I bit down hard on my lip, refusing to let another tear fall.
Sophie stood beside me, her expression etched with worry. “If you need to cry, Reagan, just let it out. Don’t hold it in.”
I didn’t answer her. My gaze was fixed on Mr. Lockwood as he prepared to get into his car for the drive to the cemetery.
“Grandfather,” I said, my voice clear and firm. “The girls won’t be buried in the Lockwood plot. And I’m changing their last names. They aren’t Lockwoods. They are my daughters. Reagan Scott’s daughters.”
Arthur Lockwood stared at me, his eyes ancient and weary. Then, a sudden fury overtook him.
“That worthless son of mine!” he roared. “On a day like today, where the hell is he?”
Sophie flinched beside me and mumbled, “His phone is off. I can’t reach him.”
Arthur closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them again, his gaze was clear.
“You carried them for nine months and brought them into this world through hell. It will be as you say.”
I immediately sank to my knees before him and pressed my forehead to the cool pavement three times. My debt of gratitude to this man was immeasurable. But that debt had nothing to do with my children. I would not allow them to suffer any further indignity, even in death.
After his car pulled away, Sophie gently helped me to my feet. “Reagan…” she began, her voice cracking.
I gave her a small, sad smile, then hailed a cab, clutching the two boxes to my chest. I was going back to the house. I had to pack up their things. That house was never a home, and I wouldn’t leave a trace of them in that cold, empty place.
But when I pushed open the front door, the sound that greeted me was the sordid noise of a man and a woman, tangled together.
“Oh, stop,” a woman giggled. “I’m pregnant. The doctor said we need to be careful.”
4
The man’s voice was rough with lust. “I’ll be gentle. It’s fine. Shh, baby. I would never do anything to hurt our little one.”
A moment later, the unmistakable sounds of their lovemaking echoed through the house.
They were in our bedroom. I couldn’t go in to pack. So I just stood there in the foyer, frozen, torturing myself by listening to every obscene sound.
I don’t know how long passed before they finally emerged.
The moment Victoria saw me, a look of undisguised triumph flashed in her eyes.
“Oh, Reagan, you’re back! You were so quiet, we didn’t even know you were here. It’s all Ethan’s fault,” she purred, clinging to his arm. “I told him no, but he just insisted. You know how he is.”
Ethan stood beside her, his hand possessively on her waist. “Why are you explaining anything to her? She’s a nobody.” He leaned down and kissed Victoria’s temple. “Come on, let’s go. We have that appointment with the OB-GYN. We need to make sure our baby is healthy and safe.”
Throughout it all, Ethan never once looked at me. His world contained only Victoria.
I stepped aside, calmly clearing a path for them to the door.
As he passed me, his gaze finally fell on the two small boxes in my arms.
“What is that garbage?” he said with a frown of disgust. “It’s filthy. Throw it out.”
With that, he wrapped his arm around Victoria and walked out the door.
I looked down at the boxes in my arms, my vision blurring.
“He wasn’t talking about you,” I whispered to them. “Don’t be sad. You’re Mommy’s treasures. You are not garbage.”
After carefully placing their ashes on the table, I began to pack.
Clothes, toys, dinnerware, crayons.
When I got to the small desk in their playroom, I found a framed picture. It was a family photo, but only the three of us were in it. There was no Ethan.
With a trembling hand, I removed the photo from its frame.
On the picture, one of my daughters had drawn a stick figure of a man. Next to it, in the clumsy handwriting of a child, were three words.
Daddy loves Mommy.
Next to the words, she had drawn a tiny heart.
That’s when I finally broke. I clutched the photograph to my chest and wailed, the sound raw and broken.
In the five years I had raised them alone, no matter what passed between Ethan and me, I had never said a single bad word about him in front of our daughters.
But children are perceptive. They knew. They saw that their father did not love their mother.
It was dark by the time I finished packing. I watched as the moving company loaded the last of the boxes onto their truck.
“Is that everything, Ms. Scott?” the mover asked.
I shook my head, turned, and walked back inside. On the coffee table, I placed the divorce papers I had already signed.
As I left the house for the last time, I held the two boxes close. A strange sense of peace settled over me.
After a moment of silence, I took out my phone, removed the SIM card, snapped it in two, and tossed the pieces out the car window.
Meanwhile, at the Lockwood Medical Center, Arthur and Sophie had arrived, having tracked down Ethan and Victoria during their appointment.
The moment Ethan saw his grandfather and sister, his face darkened.
“Does Reagan have no shame?” he muttered to Victoria. “Plays the saint at home and then calls them to chase me down at the hospital. She’s disgusting…”
Before he could finish, Arthur’s hand cracked across his face with a sound that echoed in the corridor.
“You degenerate!” the old man bellowed, his voice shaking with fury. “You murder your own children and you have the nerve to bring your mistress here for a checkup? How did my family produce something so heartless, so rotten to the core?”
Ethan staggered back, stunned.
“What… What did you say?”
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