He Stole My Sons Tiny Heart

Start Reading

To save my husbands life, I had to do the unthinkable: I left my newborn son behind to become a live-in wet nurse for a billionaire family.

I had just received my six-month bonus from my employer, Serena Vancepayment for the milk that should have been my own son's. I was rushing home, clutching the check, dreaming of the moment Id finally reunite my husband and child. But when I stepped into the foyer of the Vance estate to say my final goodbyes, the world stopped.

There, in the sun-drenched living room, Serena wasnt alone. She was draped over a mans lap, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw in a way that was sickeningly intimate.

I turned to leave, my face flushing with the shame of witnessing something I shouldn't have, until I heard her voicesaccharine and mocking.

Dominic, honey, how much longer are we going to keep this charade up? I almost feel bad for her. I just gave her a two-hundred-dollar bonus, and she looked like shed won the lottery. It was pathetic.

A deep, familiar voice chuckled. The toilet paper I buy for you costs more than two hundred dollars.

The sound hit me like a physical blow. My heart skipped, then hammered against my ribs. I must be hallucinating. My husbands name was Dominic, too. But my Dominic was a mute. He couldn't speak a word.

Then, the man turned his head. He smirked, that same crooked smile I had fallen in love with in a dim hospital room three years ago. Keep it going a little longer. You were too vain to breastfeed, and the brat likes her milk. Having her here to look after both of you makes my life easier.

Serena leaned in, nipping at his ear. What about her kid? If she finds out youre worth twenty billion dollars and youve been playing poor husband just to trick her into being our nanny, won't she lose it?

Dominic pulled her chin up and kissed her deeply. She worships me, he murmured against her lips. Even if she found out, shes too desperate to leave. Shed settle for being your maid just to stay in my orbit. Besides, how else was I supposed to know if her love was 'pure' unless I pretended to have nothing?

And her baby? Serena purred.

That kid isn't royalty, Dominic said, his voice cold and indifferent. He can survive on rice water.

My blood turned to ice. My eyes locked onto the small, jagged birthmark on the side of his neck.

Tears blurred my vision, hot and stinging.

Dominic. If you aren't a mute, then I don't owe you a damn thing.

I stepped back into the shadows, pulled out my phone, and dialed a number I hadn't touched in years.

Dad? I whispered, my voice trembling with a rage so cold it felt like glass. Im done playing this game. Im tired of being poor. Come pick me up.

I dont remember the drive home.

By the time I regained consciousness of my surroundings, I was standing in the middle of our cramped, peeling apartment, drenched in a cold sweat. A faint, pathetic whimperlike a dying kittenechoed from the bedroom.

It jolted me awake. I sprinted inside. Charlie!

I reached the crib. My son was nearly six months old, but he looked like a skeletal newborn. He was fragile, his skin sallow and tight over his tiny bones. On the bedside table sat a bowl of crusty, dried-up rice water.

He can survive on rice water.

Dominics words played on a loop in my head, carving out my heart. He had actually done it. He had let our son starve.

Whenever Serenas baby went an hour without feeding, she would go into a frantic state, and I would be summoned. I could rarely get away to come home. I had sent every cent of my wages to Dominics account. I didn't spend a penny on myself; I ate Serenas leftovers just to save more for Dominics "medical treatments."

He had promised me he would take care of Charlie.

And this was his version of care: he wouldn't even spend a few dollars on formula for his own flesh and blood.

Charlies cries were getting weaker, fading into a terrifying silence. Panicked, I gathered his limp body into my arms and ran for the hospital.

It was well past midnight by the time he was stabilized. Standing outside the Neonatal ICU, watching Charlie through the glass, I couldn't stop shaking. I checked my phone. The frantic texts Id sent Dominic three hours ago were still unanswered.

Then, I saw a familiar movement down the hall.

Dominic was there. He was carrying Serenas baby, and Serena was clinging to his arm, looking distraught. He was cornering a doctor, his face a mask of paternal agony.

He coughed twice on the way here, Dominic said, his voice urgent and articulate. Are you absolutely sure hes okay?

The doctor sighed, looking exhausted. Sir, weve run every test twice tonight. Your son is perfectly healthy. You can go home.

I stood frozen, still struggling to reconcile the man I knewthe man who communicated in clumsy sign languagewith this commanding, eloquent stranger.

My phone chimed. A notification.

I watched as they disappeared around the corner, heading toward the private exit. Then I looked down at the screen. Dominic had finally replied.

[Sorry, babe. My boss had an emergency and needed a driver. Its going to be a long night. Ill be home late.]

I let out a jagged, hysterical laugh.

How could I have been so blind? Dominic drove ten-million-dollar cars and wore bespoke suits. I had actually believed him when he said he was just a chauffeur for a wealthy family and that the clothes were "hand-me-downs" from his employer.

[By the way, is Charlie okay?]

He finally remembered to ask.

Serenas son coughed twice, and Dominic rushed him to the hospital, demanding the best care money could buy. Our son had a fever of 104, and Dominic had ignored my messages for three hours.

I scrolled up through our chat history. It was a graveyard of my one-sided conversations. Id share every milestone, every worry, and his replies were always short, functional, or just a thumbs-up emoji.

I remembered Serena bragging about her husband. She said he was "obsessive," that he checked in on her every hour when he was away.

I thought Dominic was just stoic. Quiet.

He wasn't quiet. He just had nothing to say to me. He had spent three years pretending to be a mute because he couldn't be bothered to hold a conversation with a woman he considered beneath him.

I cleared the chat history with a trembling thumb. Then, I saw Serenas latest Instagram post.

The photo showed the silhouette of a man rocking a baby. In the foreground was a designer bottlethe kind that retailed for five thousand dollars.

Serenas caption read: Daddy bought a whole warehouse of these for our prince. Nothing but the best.

One of those bottles could have paid for a years worth of Charlies formula. But in Dominics eyes, Charlie didn't even deserve the cheap stuff. He was a "rice water" baby.

And the worst part? The milk inside that designer bottle had come from my own body. Dominic had tricked me into being a human fountain for his mistresss child while our son withered away.

I started to laugh, the sound turning into a sob that choked me.

My phone vibrated again. A text from a private number.

[Miss Thorne, the private jet will be ready in three days to collect you and the young master.]

Attached to the message was a file. Everything I needed to know about the man I thought I loved.

I wiped my eyes and stared at the screen.

Dominic Vance.

CEO of the Vance Group.

Net worth: $22 Billion.

Marital Status: Married to Serena Vance.

My hands shook so hard I almost dropped the phone. Married. He was already married.

When I got back to the apartment, I dug through the closet and found our marriage certificate. I looked at it under the light. There was no official seal. No state registration number.

It was a prop. A fake.

The paper fluttered to the floor as I collapsed onto the bed. I sat there in the dark until the sun began to peek through the grime-streaked windows.

The door clicked open. Dominic walked in, stopping short when he saw me. He rushed over, his face twisting into a mask of "mute" concern. He began to gesture frantically.

[Honey, whats wrong? You look terrible.]

I looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. The scent hit me immediatelySerenas perfume. Expensive, floral, and suffocating. I used to think rich people just all used the same soap. I never realized that the "mysterious owner" of the estate, the man whose muffled groans I heard through the nursery walls at night, was my own husband.

He continued to sign, his expression earnest and apologetic.

[Is it the baby? Im so sorry. Im a failure. I couldn't get my wages today because I dented the bosss car. I have nothing for you.]

He hung his head in "shame."

Always the same story. His pay was always docked, always withheld. In the past, I would have thrown my arms around him, telling him it was okay, that Id work an extra shift, that wed get through it together.

Now, I just watched him.

When I didn't respond, a flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes. He tried to pull me into a hug, but I stayed stiff. He pulled back and signed again.

[Tessa, talk to me. What happened?]

My gaze landed on a faint red mark on his collarbone. A hickey. I reached out and touched it.

He caught my hand, his face perfectly miming a panicked explanation.

[A mosquito... it was a long night in the car.]

I pulled my hand away. My voice was dead. Charlie is in the hospital. He has a severe infection and malnutrition.

I watched his face. There wasn't a single spark of genuine fear. Just a calculated shift into his "guilty" persona.

[Its my fault. Im useless. I can't even speak, Im just a driver. I can't even take care of my own son.]

He used to say that to make me feel guilty. Because the reason he couldn't speakthe reason he was "broken"was supposed to be because of me.

Three years ago, I was on vacation in Aspen when my hotel caught fire.

As the flames licked at my door, a stranger from the room next door had smashed his way in and carried me out. I walked away with minor scratches. He ended up with severe burns and, according to the doctors, permanent damage to his vocal cords.

Consumed by guilt, I walked away from my life. I cut ties with my wealthy parents, who wanted me to come home to London, and stayed by his side. I spent six months nursing him.

When he "couldn't" speak again, I cried in the hospital stairwell. He found me there and wrote a note:

If you feel you owe me, why not marry me instead?

I was young, traumatized, and overwhelmed by his "sacrifice." We married a month later. He took me to this hellhole of an apartment and signed:

[I have nothing. If you want to leave and not suffer with me, I understand.]

I stayed. I worked five jobs. I worked until my hands were raw and my back felt like it was breaking. I saved every penny for a vocal cord surgery that cost half a million dollars. I slept four hours a night. I even got hit by a car while delivering food, leaving a ten-inch scar on my leg and a permanent limp, all because I wouldn't stop working.

I thought I was paying back a debt of life.

I was actually just the lead actress in his twisted psychological experiment.

Dominic reached into a plastic bag and pulled out a used baby bottle and a half-empty tin of formula. He held them out like he was presenting a treasure.

[I spent hours at the flea market bargaining for these. I know we ran out. Why don't you feed Charlie today?]

I looked at the bottle. I recognized the scratches on the plastic. It belonged to Serenas dog. They used it to give the puppy water.

To Dominic, my son was worth less than his mistresss pet.

I pushed the items back. Don't worry about it. Ive saved enough for your surgery. I don't need to be a wet nurse anymore. Ill be staying home with Charlie.

Dominic stiffened, but he didn't argue. He led me to the bed, tucked me in, and made an excuse to go to the bathroom.

Five minutes later, my phone rang. It was a "doctor" from the clinic.

Im sorry, Mrs. Thorne, but the estimate for the surgery was wrong. Its not two hundred thousand; its five hundred. And we have a very limited window. If you don't pay by the end of the week, your husband may never speak again.

Dominic walked out of the bathroom just as I hung up. He looked at me with "sorrowful" eyes and signed:

[Forget it, Tessa. Lets not do the surgery. I don't want you to suffer anymore.]

I looked him straight in the eye. Ill get the money. Don't worry.

His brow smoothed over instantly. He turned away, his fingers flying across his phone screen. I caught a glimpse of his reflection in the dark window. He was smiling. A real, triumphant smile I had never seen before.

That night, as I lay in the dark, I felt his hand reach under my shirt. But as he pulled the fabric up, he stopped.

He saw my chestthe skin raw, bruised, and bleeding from where Serenas greedy child had bitten me earlier that day.

Dominic flinched. Not out of pity, but disgust. Even in the shadows, I saw the flicker of revulsion in his eyes.

The mood died instantly. He sat up and signed: [I need to use the restroom.]

A few minutes later, I followed him. I didn't go to the bathroom. I went to the small storage room where we kept our junk.

I peered through the crack in the door. Dominic was standing there, his phone glowing with a photo of Serena. He was touching himself, his breath hitching, whispering her name over and over in a low, husky baritone.

A wave of nausea hit me so hard I nearly gagged. I turned and ran for the bathroom, slamming the door.

Dominic was there a second later, knocking, his "mute" mask back on. [Tessa? Are you okay?]

I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear his eyes out. But before I could open the door and end the lie, his phone rang. A real ringtone.

He answered it. He didn't realize I was right behind the door.

His voice was cold, sharp, and authoritative. What? When? Im coming now.

He didn't look at me. He didn't say a word. He just grabbed his jacket and vanished into the night.

I stood in the silence of the apartment. I walked to the wall and took down our "wedding" photo. I threw it into the trash. I gathered every note hed ever written me, every fake "I love you" on a scrap of paper, and burned them in a pot on the stove.

I scrubbed the apartment of any trace of me and Charlie. Then, I went to the hospital.

By evening, the doctor told me Charlie was out of the woods and moving to a regular ward. I was finally holding him, my heart beginning to heal, when he was ripped out of my arms.

Dominic appeared like a ghost. He looked at me, his expression unreadable.

What are you doing? I screamed, lunging for him. Give him back!

Suddenly, Serena Vance burst into the room. The elegant, haughty woman I had served for six months threw herself at my feet, sobbing.

Tessa, please! You have to save my son! My little boy... his heart is failing. Only Charlie is a match!

Dominic stepped between us, pulling Serena up and shielding her. He didn't sign. He spoke.

Its an emergency, Tessa. Ill explain everything later. Charlies heart is the only one that can save him.

The world tilted. I finally understood why hed kept me around. Why hed kept Charlie alive just enough. We weren't a family. We were a backup parts warehouse.

I tried to grab the carrier, but Dominics security detailmen in suits Id never seen beforepinned me against the wall.

You want to take his heart? I shrieked, the sound tearing my throat. If you take his heart, how does he live? How does Charlie live?

For a fleeting second, Dominic looked away. A ghost of guilt? Or just annoyance?

Serena wailed, Dominic! If he dies, Ill die too!

Dominic didn't hesitate again. Ive arranged for the best artificial heart team in the world for Charlie, he said, his voice clipped. Hell be fine.

Charlie began to crya thin, terrified sound.

Dominic, please, I sobbed, my strength failing. I just got him back. Don't hurt him. Hes your son!

Dominic paused. He looked at the baby, then at Serena. Then he turned his back on me.

I fought like an animal. I bit a guards hand, drawing blood, and broke free. I ran for Dominic, but he turned and kicked me back. Hard.

I slumped against the floor, gasping for air.

Stop being hysterical, Tessa, Dominic said, his eyes filled with genuine loathing now. Charlie should be honored to save a life like this. After this is over, Ill settle enough money on you that youll never have to work again. You should be grateful.

The guards grabbed me again. I watched through the small window in the door as he carried my son into the operating theater.

Hours passed. I was locked in a consultation room. Suddenly, fireworks exploded in the sky outside. I could hear the nurses in the hall cheering.

Mr. Vance is so generous! The transplant was a success. He gave everyone on staff a three-thousand-dollar bonus!

Theyve already left for the airport. Taking the private jet to a recovery villa in Switzerland. What a perfect family.

I waited until the shift change, then I smashed a chair through the glass observation window and ran.

I searched every floor. I finally found him in the basement. The morgue.

Charlie was lying on a cold steel table, covered by a thin white sheet. I pulled it back. There was a jagged, horrific seam running down his tiny chest.

There was no artificial heart. There was nothing inside him at all.

I didn't even scream. I just vomited blood onto the linoleum floor.

It was all a lie.

I picked up his cold, light body and held him to my chest. I didn't cry until I heard the sound of the world ending outside.

The roar of multiple helicopter rotors drowned out the hospitals hum. The doors to the morgue were kicked open. A dozen men in tactical gear, led by a man in a grey suit who looked exactly like my father, marched in.

Were so sorry, Miss Thorne, the man said, bowing his head. We were too late.