When Candice, 35, uncovered the disturbing truth about her husband, Martin, she had no choice but to grab her son and run. But she never expected the terrifying showdown that would follow—a night of broken glass, desperate cries, and secrets that shattered her world forever.
It was nearly 2 a.m. The house was quiet, but my heart pounded so loudly it felt like the walls could hear it. I was stuffing clothes into a bag with trembling hands, my eyes darting toward the crib where Barry, my little boy, slept peacefully. He had no idea our lives were about to change forever.
I whispered to myself, “I can’t stay here. Not another second.”
Pulling Barry into my arms, I clutched him tightly, my robe hanging open, my feet still in soft house slippers. I didn’t care about how I looked. I only cared about getting away. Barry stirred, letting out a soft cry, and I tried to hush him with my sleeve, though my own tears were falling fast.
The night air was freezing as I stepped outside, but adrenaline carried me forward. I ran down the empty streets, clutching Barry’s small body, ignoring the sting in my legs and the fear clawing at my chest. My parents’ house wasn’t far, but every step felt like I was running through quicksand.
Finally, I reached their door. I banged on it with all my strength, my fists and feet pounding like I was trying to break through.
“Mom! Dad! Please, open up!” I cried, my voice raw and shaking.
The door flew open. My mother stood there, her eyes wide.
“Candice? What on earth—?”
“Please, let me in,” I sobbed. “I… I can’t go back.”
She pulled me inside without another word. My father quickly lifted Barry from my arms, gently rocking him as he whispered, “It’s alright, buddy. Grandpa’s got you.”
My mother wrapped a blanket around my shoulders, leading me to the couch. “Tell us what happened,” she urged softly.
I took a shaky breath. “It’s Martin. I can’t live with him anymore.”
Her eyes filled with fear. “Did he hurt you?”
“No, not physically,” I said, shaking my head. “But emotionally… he’s been gone. Obsessed. Every night, he disappears into the basement for hours. I thought it was just stress or work. But tonight… I saw the truth.”
My father leaned closer, his brow furrowed. “What truth?”
I felt a lump rising in my throat. “He’s been painting her, Dad. Dakota.” My voice cracked. “My childhood friend. His ex-girlfriend.”
“But Dakota’s… she’s dead, isn’t she?” my father asked, disbelief clear in his tone.
“Yes. She died five years ago. But down there in that basement, it’s like she never left. Every wall is covered with her face. Hundreds of sketches, paintings, half-finished portraits staring back at me.” My voice trembled. “I’ve been living in a house haunted by someone who isn’t even alive.”
My mother gasped. “Oh, Candice. I can’t believe Linda would allow this.”
I nodded, wiping my tears. “She’s been encouraging him. Supporting his obsession. I thought I was his wife, but I’ve been nothing more than a replacement.”
I took another breath before saying the worst part. “I overheard them—Martin and his mom. He said he wished I had been the one who died instead of Dakota. That he married me because I looked like her. He even said the only reason he hasn’t left me yet is Barry.”
My parents froze. My father’s jaw clenched. My mother shook her head in shock.
Linda, his mother, had agreed. “If Candice can’t understand your grief, she’s the problem,” she’d told him. Those words echoed in my head like poison.
“I can’t live with someone who wishes me dead,” I whispered, tears streaming.
My mother hugged me tightly. “You’re right to leave, sweetheart. You and Barry deserve better.”
The next morning, with my parents’ support, we contacted a lawyer. I filed for divorce and custody of Barry. I felt both terrified and relieved.
But Martin wasn’t ready to let go. He bombarded me with calls and messages. His mother called too, pleading:
“Candice, please,” she said one evening. “He’s hurting. He needs you.”
I held the phone tightly. “I can’t do this anymore, Linda. He needs help, but I can’t be the one to save him. I have to think about my son.”
Weeks passed. Slowly, I started to believe we could build a new life. But one night, my nightmare returned.
I woke to the sound of shattering glass. My blood froze. I ran to Barry’s room—and my breath caught in my throat. The window was broken. Moonlight spilled in. And there they were—Martin and his mother, standing inside.
“You have to come back,” Martin said, his eyes wild. “We can’t live without you.”
Linda’s voice shook. “You don’t understand. He needs you. We need to be a family again.”
I clutched Barry, my heart racing. “What are you doing? You can’t just break in!”
My parents burst into the room. My dad’s face turned red with fury. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Get out before I call the police!”
Martin stepped closer, his voice breaking. “She’s my wife. She belongs with me.”
“Not anymore!” my mom snapped. “You lost her.”
Martin lunged at me, grabbing my arm. I screamed, pulling Barry away. My dad shouted into the phone, “911! There’s a break-in and attempted kidnapping!”
Linda’s eyes filled with desperation. “Candice, please, for Barry’s sake. He needs his father.”
“No!” I cried. “Barry needs safety. He needs peace. And you’re scaring him!”
Sirens wailed outside. Red and blue lights flashed. Police stormed in, tearing Martin and Linda away from me.
“Ma’am, are you alright?” an officer asked gently.
“Yes,” I whispered, holding Barry close. “We’re okay now.”
Martin looked at me one last time as he was led away in handcuffs. “I’m sorry, Candice. I just… I love you so much.” His voice broke, but his eyes were filled with madness.
The next day, the story was everywhere: “Local Man and Mother Arrested for Break-In and Attempted Kidnapping.”
The media frenzy was overwhelming. My mother wrapped her arm around me. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll protect you.”
“I need a fresh start,” I said firmly.
With their support, I moved to a new city, changed my name, found a job, and began therapy. Dr. Jones, my therapist, told me one day, “You’ve been through hell, Candice. But you’re strong. You did the right thing.”
Her words gave me hope. Slowly, life began to heal. Barry’s laughter returned. I joined a support group of single mothers, realizing I wasn’t alone.
One night, as I tucked Barry into bed, he looked at me with wide eyes. “Mommy, are we safe now?”
I kissed his forehead. “Yes, sweetheart. We’re safe. And we’ll be okay.”
The trauma scarred me, but it also taught me resilience. Martin and Linda shattered my old life, but from the pieces, I built something new—stronger, brighter, safer.
As Barry drifted to sleep, I whispered, “We’ve come so far, my love. And no matter what, we’ll keep moving forward. Together.”
