All Sinners Fall

After my son was kidnapped by criminals, I begged my detective husband to save him.

He was too busy protecting his frightened first love to care—hanging up on my desperate calls one after another.

The kidnappers demanded a $500,000 ransom to spare my child's life. That's when I discovered he had already drained our family savings—to spoil his first love.

When I screamed that his own son was hanging by a thread, he just sneered that I was an attention-seeking liar.

In the end, the kidnappers sent back my seven-year-old son's severed head.

Even after that, my husband still fought tooth and nail to protect his first love who had orchestrated our child's death.

It wasn't until I made him stand before that headless little body and identify it himself that he finally, completely, lost his mind.

......

I stared at the countdown jumping on my phone screen. Less than forty minutes remained until the kidnappers' deadline.

"Five hundred thousand US dollars. Deliver it to the abandoned Brooklyn pier within forty minutes. Don't call the police, or you'll receive your son's body parts, one by one."

In the background, my seven-year-old son Luke's weak sobbing could be heard: "Mommy... it's so dark... I'm scared..."

My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an ice-cold hand, my blood freezing instantly.

Luke had mild autism and was terrified of the dark.

My hands trembling, I turned on the computer and tried to log into the joint account I shared with my husband, Arthur, to withdraw the money.

Only to learn that the five hundred thousand dollars had been transferred entirely by Arthur just half an hour earlier—used for the down payment on a luxury apartment on Manhattan's Upper East Side.

The owner of that apartment was a woman named Chloe.

Chloe was Arthur's former partner from the Major Crimes Unit, and also his first love.

Ever since she reinserted herself into our lives six months ago, claiming she was "being stalked by gang members," Arthur had become her personal bodyguard.

I called Arthur like a madwoman.

First call, rejected. Second call, rejected.

It wasn't until the seventh try that he finally answered.

"Ivy, what the hell is wrong with you? Didn't I tell you I'm on an emergency protection detail?" Arthur's voice came through, seething with suppressed anger and impatience.

"Arthur! Luke has been kidnapped! They want five hundred thousand dollars—where did you take the money from our account? Please, use the department's resources to find him!" I was practically screaming into the phone, the taste of blood rising in my throat.

A faint, scornful chuckle came from the other end.

"Ivy, have you lost your mind?" Arthur's voice was cold as steel. "Are you really making up lies like this just to force me to come home?"

"I'm not lying! Someone took Luke from the school bus stop! They sent me a photo—he's covered in blood—"

"Enough!" Arthur cut me off harshly. "Luke is just fine at school. Stop using our son as a pawn. Chloe's very unstable tonight—she just received another threat letter from the gang. I need to stay here with her."

Chloe. Always Chloe.

Ever since she came back, Arthur's eyes had been only for her.

"Arthur, that's your own son! Listen to me, the kidnappers said if you don't pay, they'll—"

"If Luke were really kidnapped, you'd call 911, not put on this little act for me." Arthur's verdict was merciless. "Ivy, this jealous tantrum of yours makes me sick."

"Arthur... who is it? I'm so scared..." Chloe's frail voice came through the speaker.

"No one. Just a telemarketer. I'll be right there with you." Arthur's tone instantly softened.

Then, the line went dead.

The dial tone echoed through the empty living room.

I redialed like a maniac, only to be met with a cold voicemail greeting.

I tried to sell everything of value, even attempted to borrow from loan sharks, but time moved faster than the reaper's scythe.

Time was up.

My phone screen lit up. I received a video.

In the video, seven-year-old Luke was tied to a chair, a rag stuffed in his mouth. A man in a mask raised a chainsaw.

Luke's eyes were wide with terror, tears streaming down his face. He looked at the camera and tried to form words through the gag.

I knew what he was saying. He was saying, "Dad, save me."

The screen went black. The video ended.

An unmarked van stopped in front of my house and threw a black box onto the curb.

I scrambled out on my hands and knees, shaking as I opened the box.

Inside was my son's severed head.

His eyes were still open, staring fixedly at the world his father had abandoned him for—all for another woman.

I clutched that small head to my chest, pressing my cheek against his cold forehead, tears streaming endlessly.

"Can't even come up with five hundred thousand dollars. Since his dad doesn't give a damn, we'll just send him straight to heaven."

That was the line of blood-red text the kidnappers left behind.

That night, Arthur came home. The living room lights were off.

"Why's it so dark in here? Where's Luke? Asleep?" Arthur flicked on the light casually.

"Asleep," I replied calmly.

The deepest kind of sleep. Tucked away in a cold, dark place down below, resting so soundly he'll never wake up again.

"See? I told you you were being hysterical." Arthur tossed a paper bag onto the table. "Look—Chloe picked out this limited edition Transformer for Luke. She said she felt awful for taking up so much of my time the other day. See how thoughtful she is? And then there's you—acting like a shrew."

"Arthur." I interrupted him. "I want a divorce."