When Candice, 35, discovered the disturbing truth about her husband, Martin, she had no choice but to flee with her son. She didn’t expect the dramatic showdown that would follow, revealing secrets and shattering lives. It was late, almost 2 a.m.

I was frantically packing everything, my heart pounding in my chest. I glanced at my son, Barry, asleep in his crib, and knew I couldn’t waste another second. My mind was made up. I took a deep breath, hoisted him into my arms, and just ran.

A woman holding her little son out on the streets late at night | Source: Midjourney didn’t even take off my house slippers or robe: I was in such a hurry. Barry began to stir, crying softly. Tears streamed down my face as I tried to calm him with my sleeve.

It was dark and cold, but I kept running, pushing through the fear and the exhaustion.My parents lived in the neighboring district. It wasn’t far, but it felt like an eternity with the weight of my baby in my arms and the panic in my heart.

I finally reached their house, banging on the door with my fists and feet, gasping for breath.A scared and upset woman standing outside a house with her little son late at night | Source: Midjourney “Mom! Dad! Please, open up!” I shouted, my voice cracking.

The door swung open, and my mother stood there, eyes wide with shock. “Candice? What on earth?” “Please, let me in. I… I can’t go back,” I managed to say, my voice trembling. They ushered me inside, and my father took Barry from my arms, cooing softly to calm him down.

My mother wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and led me to the couch. “Tell us what happened,” she urged gently.A concerned and worried older woman sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “It’s Martin. It’s… it’s everything.

I can’t take it anymore.” My mother’s eyes softened with concern. “What do you mean, honey? Did he hurt you?” “No, not physically,” I admitted, shaking my head. “But emotionally… he’s been obsessed with his projects.

He spends hours in the basement every night, and I’m left alone with Barry. I thought maybe he was just stressed or needed an outlet, but tonight I found out the truth.”A silhouette of a man standing in a dark room | Source: Pexels My father furrowed his brow. “What truth?” I hesitated, feeling a lump in my throat. “He’s been drawing and painting her, Dad. Dakota.

My childhood friend — or should I say, Martin’s ex-girlfriend.” Something shook inside me as the words came out of my mouth. “But isn’t she dead?” my father asked, curious as to how Martin could still be obsessed with his deceased lover.

A shocked and worried man sitting next to his daughter late at night | Source: Midjourney “Yes, she died five years ago. But when I went down into the basement, the walls told me a completely different story.

They are covered with her face. It’s like she’s still alive,” I paused, running short of breath. “And what’s worse is that Martin’s mom has been supporting him throughout, enabling him. I feel like a stranger in my own home.” My mother gasped. “Oh, Candice. I can’t believe Linda would do that.

I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”An older woman is shocked while sitting on the couch late at night | Source: Midjourney “I walked into the basement tonight because he forgot to lock the door,” I continued, my voice breaking. “And there she was, staring at me from every corner. I felt sick.

All these months, I’ve been competing with a ghost.” My father’s jaw clenched. “That’s not right. You and Barry deserve better than this.” “I know,” I whispered, tears welling up again. “And it’s not just that. Martin’s been distant, cold.

He barely talks to me, and when he does, it’s like he’s looking through me. Also, I discovered something even more disturbing.”A distraught woman sitting on the couch covering her face with her hands | Source: Midjourney My parents exchanged worried glances. “What is it?” my mother asked gently. “I overheard Martin talking to his mom in the kitchen.

He was saying how he wished I had been the one who died instead of Dakota. He said he married me because I looked a bit like her and that Barry was the only reason he hadn’t left me yet. Linda agreed with him, saying that if I couldn’t understand his grief, then I was the problem.

Hearing that broke something inside me. I knew I couldn’t stay with someone who wished me dead.”A grayscale photo of a young woman posing near paintings on a wall | Source: Pexels My mother pulled me into a hug. “You’re doing the right thing, sweetheart. We’ll help you.

You’re not alone in this.” With their support, I began to feel a flicker of hope. They encouraged me to take legal action to protect myself and my son. The next day, we contacted a lawyer and started the process of filing for divorce and securing custody.

Days turned into weeks, and Martin tried to reach out to me multiple times. Each call, each message, was a painful reminder of the life I was leaving behind. But I knew I couldn’t go back.A man in a black crew neck t-shirt looking at his phone | Source: Unsplash His mother also tried to contact me, begging me to understand Martin’s grief and come back.

“Candice, please,” she pleaded on the phone one evening. “You know he’s been through so much. He needs you.” “I’m sorry, Linda,” I replied, my voice firm. “I can’t do this anymore. He needs help, and I can’t be the one to give it to him. I have to think about our son.”