Arrange Devotion | SS

Chapter 8. My saviour

"M-Momma?" The boy's voice quivered, barely a whisper, as he clung tightly to his worn-out stuffed toy. His wide eyes, filled with innocence, fixated on the woman in front of him.

"Don't call me that!" she spat, her voice laced with venom. "You little wretch, you ruined everything! My life is in shambles because of you!" The harsh words tore through the air, making him flinch as though struck.

His tiny mind raced, trying to piece together what he could have done wrong.

Was it the drawing he made for her? Maybe she was upset because he didn’t finish his milk this morning? Or perhaps it was because he sneaked out with his older brother?

But none of these seemed to explain the rage burning in her eyes.

"I wish you never existed!" she screamed, her face contorted with a mix of anger and sorrow. Tears streamed down her face, but they held no warmth, only bitterness.

"I hate you!" The boy stood frozen, his small frame trembling, unable to comprehend the words that stabbed at his heart.

"Momma... what does ‘hate’ mean?" he asked, his voice breaking as he looked up at her with confused, tear-filled eyes.

But she didn’t answer. She simply turned away, burying herself in her work as though he wasn’t even there.

The boy stood there in silence, the weight of her words pressing down on him, but the meaning still eluded him. All he knew was that something inside him hurt—a deep, inexplicable pain.

The silence grew louder, heavier, crushing the little bit of hope still flickering in his heart. He clutched his stuffed toy tighter, as if it could shield him from the coldness radiating from her.

His mind was a whirlwind of confusion, trying to understand why the person he loved most in the world would say such things. He thought of all the times she had held him, comforted him, whispered sweet words in his ear. Was that all a lie? Had he done something so terrible that it erased all of that?

He shuffled forward, each step hesitant, as though the floor beneath him might give way. “Momma, I’m sorry…” His voice was so small, so fragile, barely audible over the sound of her feverish typing. “I’ll be good, I promise. I won’t go out anymore, and I’ll drink all my milk. Please… don’t hate me.”

But she didn’t respond. Her fingers clattered against the keyboard, the noise sharp and relentless. To her, he was nothing more than a ghost, a shadow that she could ignore.

The boy’s tiny chest heaved as he fought back the tears, the overwhelming ache in his heart too much to bear. The word “hate” still lingered in his mind, a mysterious monster he couldn’t fully grasp, but it was enough to know that whatever it meant, it wasn’t good. It wasn’t love.

He turned slowly, his shoulders slumped in defeat, and walked away. The house felt emptier now, colder, each step echoing in the silent halls. His feet carried him to his room, where he crawled onto his bed, curling up with his stuffed toy.

He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could go back to a time when her arms were still a place of safety, when her words were gentle and warm.

But the darkness that seeped into him now wouldn’t let him forget. Even as he drifted into a fitful sleep, her words echoed in his dreams, a cruel reminder that something was wrong—terribly wrong—and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fix it.

Not with drawings, not with promises, and not with love.

“You’re a mistake!”

“I wish you never existed…”