To hide his affair, Herman inflicts emotional distress upon his stepson. When his jilted wife, the boy’s mother, learns the truth, she calmly delivers justice.
The soft melodies of Billie Holiday filled the room, the sultry voice surrounding the entangled figures on the white sofa. Herman, in his thirties, and Jezebel, his mistress, shared stolen moments in the dimly lit living room.
“This is so naughty of us!” Jezebel whispered. “What if your wife comes home early?”
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“My wife hasn’t come home early in at least a year! We have the whole morning,” Herman insisted.
“The whole morning!” Jezebel echoed. “Well, in that case, best we make the most of it, Mr. Loverman. Kiss me like you mean it.”
“That’s not all I’m going to do; just wait,” Herman replied, tossing his sweater aside.
They lost themselves in the moment, but a creaking door interrupted them. Panic gripped the pair; Herman’s wife wasn’t supposed to be back for hours.
“Who is it?” Jezebel whispered.
“It can’t be my wife,” Herman pleaded. “She told me she was working late. Quick, get—”
The front door slammed shut, and Herman faced the music.
A young voice broke the tension. “Herman? Are you here?” Herman’s son, Jake, entered, backpack slung over his shoulders.
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“What are you doing home, Jake?” Herman asked angrily.
“They made us go home early because of a scare,” Jake explained. “They thought there was someone with a gun in the school. Herman, who is this lady?” Jake asked, looking at Jezebel.
Herman denied Jezebel’s presence. “Jake, you must be seeing things.”
“But I see a lady right there,” Jake insisted.
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Herman concocted a lie about Jake’s shock from the school scare.
“Close your eyes and count to ten. If you can’t see the ghost, it can’t see you. And you see, it’ll disappear if you do that.”
Jezebel disappeared into the bedroom as Jake obediently counted. When he opened his eyes, the woman was gone.
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“I made her disappear?” Jake exclaimed.
“You got rid of the ghost. You’re a brave young man,” Herman assured.
After coaxing Jake to keep the encounter a secret, Herman allowed him unlimited screen time.
After Jake left, Jezebel re-entered the room, disapproving of Herman’s actions. “What was that? You lied to your son?”
“Stepson,” Herman corrected. “What did you expect? Tell him about us? Admit to our affair? I’ll do whatever it takes to keep us together.”
Jezebel sighed. “Okay, cool,” she said.
“That was close, though,” Herman said. “We’ll get back to what we were doing another time!”
“Yeah,” she agreed, kissing him goodbye. “See you later, Loverman,” she added seductively.
***
Herman’s wife, Grace, returned home after sunset. Tension enveloped the dinner table as they sat down to eat. Jake seized the opportunity to share his peculiar day.
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“Mom,” he began, “we left school early today because they thought there was someone with a g un inside.”
“What…what happened?” Grace gasped.
“It was a false alarm. Everything’s fine, right, Jake?” Herman interjected.
“I’m fine,” Jake said. “But when I came home, I saw a ghost.”
“A ghost?” Grace asked, concerned.
“It’s just his imagination,” Herman intervened, concealing his panic. “Post-traumatic stress from the school scare.”
Ignoring Herman, Grace focused on Jake. “What did the ghost look like?”
“She was a lady with big, frizzy hair,” Jake explained.
“She?” Grace repeated, looking at Herman.
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Herman laughed nervously. “He must be in shock. Go watch cartoons,” he told Jake.
After Jake left, Herman leaned in, trying to placate Grace. The tension lingered.
“I’ll call the school and get Jake an appointment with the psychologist,” Grace said. “Now that you’re not working, you can take him to the appointment.”
Herman almost yelled, “I’m trying to find a job!”
“I know. But..Maybe spend less time at that Moe’s Diner you visit often and help more with Jake,” Grace suggested stiffly.
Herman didn’t say much, promising to help her with her son.
After dinner, Grace decided to talk to Jake. “Talk to the counselor at school. It might help you understand what’s going on, honey, alright?”
“Okay, Mom,” Jake said sweetly and wished Herman and Grace good night.
Herman’s heart sank in regret, realizing his secret tryst with Jezebel was unraveling. He had hoped to manage the affair, but it was proving more complicated than expected.
As they sat in the living room, Grace’s eyes locked with Herman’s. “It’s for the best that we’re taking him to a doctor. My boy’s well-being is at stake.”
They argued, and Herman again said it wasn’t needed, but Grace’s determination prevailed. “I’ll make an appointment with the psychologist for Jake! And I’m taking him there myself!”
***
In Dr. Warren’s child-friendly office, Jake’s anxiety was palpable. His tiny hands gripped the chair he sat in.
Dr. Warren greeted him warmly. “Let’s talk about what happened, Jake.”
Jake hesitated, recalling the frightening incident that brought him here and Herman’s trick with ghosts. “Herman said if I close my eyes, the ghost would disappear.”
Dr. Warren turned to Grace. “What trick did Herman show you? What ghosts?”
Grace explained Herman’s role in their lives — that he was her second husband — and Jake continued, “Herman said when I close my eyes, the ghost can’t see me, so it goes away.”
Dr. Warren addressed Jake gently. “Closing your eyes won’t make dangerous things go away. It’s important to talk to someone you trust.”
Jake nodded, sharing his fear of the ghost breaking up his family. “I saw a Iady. I am scared that lady will make Herman leave Mom.”
Dr. Warren looked at Grace. “I’m going to recommend regular visits to help Jake understand these feelings better. Jake,” he added, turning to the boy, “can you please excuse us? Your mom will be out in just a minute. I want to make an appointment for your next visit with her.”
Jake nodded and left the room.
“I divorced Jake’s father because he was unfaithful. He had an affair,” Grace told Dr. Warren.
The man nodded. “I think what’s happening with Jake is a classic case of Kleinian Projective Identification,” he said.
“Is it serious? What…what can we do?” Grace asked, concerned for her little boy.
“Don’t worry,” Dr. Warren reassured her. “It’s just a theory in child psychology based on Melanie Klein’s work. Projective identification involves a child projecting feelings onto another or the world outside, often with the intent of making the other person experience what the projector is feeling, causing delusional behavior, like Jake’s. We can deal with this.”
“I just want what’s best for Jake,” Grace said worriedly. “If you think you can help him, then we’ll do whatever it takes.”
“I’d like to work with Jake,” Dr. Warren continued. “He might need counseIing and medication. I’m here to support both of you.”
***
Grace briefed Herman on Dr. Warren’s diagnosis over dinner. “What did he call it?” Herman asked.
“Something about projecting fears onto the externaI world,” Grace said.
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“Is it a real issue?” Herman inquired.
“Yes, according to Dr. Warren. Jake might need medication,” Grace replied.
Herman Iowered his head and concentrated on eating his food. “Is something wrong?” Grace asked him.
“Uh, no, no, nothing wrong,” Herman said unconvincingly. “Just thinking.”
“I’m taking the afternoon off tomorrow and taking Jake out for lunch. I think it will be good if he and I spend some time together. Maybe he will open up about what’s troubling him.”
“Okay,” Herman agreed nervously.
At Moe’s Diner, Grace and Jake discussed the menu. Suddenly, Jake closed his eyes, claiming to see the ghost from their living room.
“The ghost? Are you sure, honey?” Grace asked, worried and concerned.
Jake pointed to the frizzy-haired waitress, Jezebel. Grace approached her, inquiring about any unusual experiences at the restaurant. But Jezebel denied any ghostly occurrences.
Grace, suspicious, pressed on, “It’s just that sometimes kids pick up on things, you know? Strange vibes or unusual occurrences. It would put my mind at ease to know if there’s anything unusual about this place. For my son’s sake.”
Jezebel dismissed Grace’s doubts, claiming that Jake had an overactive imagination. Grace thanked her and returned to the table.
But the woman sensed something off about Jezebel. Pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that the truth was within reach.
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When Jezebel dropped the food, Grace said nothing. Jake closed his eyes and began counting again.
“It’s okay now, Jake, she’s gone,” Grace assured. Jake opened his eyes, focusing on his ice cream.
Grace had an idea. “Jake, should we call Herman and ask him to join us for lunch?”
Jake nodded unenthusiastically.
Grace smiled, pleased. “But my phone’s dead. I’ll ask the waitress if I can use hers.”
Approaching Jezebel, Grace said, “My phone’s almost flat. Can I use yours to make a quick call to my office?”
Jezebel handed her phone reluctantly. “No problem. Go right ahead,” she said.
Grace dialed Herman’s number and got the shock of her life when the caller ID on Jezebel’s phone revealed “Loverman.” Shocked, Grace hung up quickly and returned to the table. But now the truth was out.
With a weak smile, she encouraged Jake to finish his food soon.
After arranging a playdate for Jake, Grace returned home. Settling on the sofa, she reached for her phone, dialing Dr. Warren.
“It’s Grace. I need your guidance and support.”
Grace recounted the events, revealing her plan to remove Herman’s belongings. Dr. Warren supported her decision.
Soon, the removal men arrived, packing up Herman’s things.
When Herman arrived, he was shocked. “Grace, what’s going on? What are these men doing with our things?” he asked, baffled.
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Grace imitated the charade Herman had once played with their son, a mocking smile on her lips.
“Herman, what men? I don’t see any men. You must be seeing ghosts. Oh, and to be clear, those are not our things; they are your things.”
Herman’s face paled. The tables had turned.
His voice quivered, “Grace, you must believe me. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I—”
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Grace cut him off, her voice firm and unwavering. “Herman, there is no room for excuses. The time for lies and infidelity is over. You know what you are to me now? A ghost!”
Herman’s eyes twisted up with regret, but Grace’s resolve held. She explained that all of his personal items were being moved to a storage facility, signaling the end of their shared life together.
“I’ve also been in consultation with Dr. Warren, and we’ve initiated criminal charges for emotional abuse. The police will be here shortly.”
Soon, two officers arrived, their badges glinting. They informed Herman of his rights and took him away; justice was served.
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Grace, feeling vindicated, turned to the door, closed her eyes, and counted to ten – her way of making Herman’s ghost disappear.
Opening her eyes, she saw Jake, who ran to her and embraced her.
Grace held him close. The road ahead was uncertain, but they were united, and they would face whatever challenges that lay ahead with courage and love.
A POOR BOY SAVED A RICH MAN’S LIFE—THE NEXT DAY, HE AND HIS ILL MOTHER FOUND A BAG SENT BY THAT SAME MAN ON THEIR PORCH.
The dust of the country road swirled around Martin’s worn sandals as he trudged home, his stomach growling with the familiar pangs of hunger. He was a wisp of a boy, barely ten years old, with eyes that held the weight of too many hardships. His mother, frail and perpetually ill, relied on him for everything, from gathering firewood to earning meager coins from odd jobs.
As he rounded a bend, a sleek, black automobile roared past, kicking up a cloud of dust that stung his eyes. He coughed, waving his hand to clear the air, and then noticed the car had stopped further down the road. It was angled awkwardly, half on the pavement, half in the ditch. A figure slumped inside.
Curiosity piqued, Martin ran towards the car. Inside, a man, dressed in fine clothes, was choking, his face turning an alarming shade of purple. He was clutching his throat, his eyes wide with panic. Martin recognized him; it was Sylvester Thorne, the wealthy landowner whose grand estate loomed over their humble village.
Without hesitation, Martin grabbed a rock from the roadside and smashed the car window. Glass shattered everywhere as he reached in to unlock the door. “Stand back!” he shouted, pulling Sylvester out onto the pavement.
Sylvester was gasping, his hands still clutching his throat. Martin knew he had to act quickly. He remembered a trick he’d seen his father use once, a desperate measure. With all his might, Martin delivered several sharp blows to Sylvester’s back. Suddenly, a chunk of apple flew from Sylvester’s mouth, and he gasped for air, his lungs finally filling with air.
The rich man looked at the boy with tears in his eyes and kept thanking him for saving his life, his voice hoarse. “You… you saved my life, boy. I… I owe you everything.”
Martin, flustered by the man’s gratitude, simply nodded. “Just glad you’re alright, sir.” And then, he turned and walked away, his stomach still growling, his mind already turning to the task of finding something for his mother to eat.
The next morning, Martin was jolted awake by his sister, Lily’s, excited screams. “Marty! Marty! Come quick!”
He rushed outside, his mother calling after them in confusion, her voice weak but laced with concern. There, on their doorstep, sat a large, brown bag. It was tied with a silken ribbon, a stark contrast to the rough, worn wood of their porch.
Lily, her eyes wide with wonder, tugged at the ribbon. Martin cautiously untied it, and the contents spilled out: a loaf of fresh bread, a basket of plump, red apples, a jar of honey, and a small pouch filled with coins. At the bottom of the bag, a folded note lay nestled amongst the food.
Martin unfolded it, his eyes scanning the elegant script. “To Martin, for your bravery and kindness. From Sylvester Thorne.”
His mother, her face etched with a mixture of relief and astonishment, reached for the bread, her fingers trembling. “It’s from Mr. Thorne,” Martin said, his voice hushed. “He remembered.”
The food was a godsend. They hadn’t had a proper meal in days. The coins, though few, were enough to buy medicine for his mother and some seeds for their small garden. But it was more than just the material goods. It was the knowledge that someone, especially someone as powerful as Sylvester Thorne, had seen their plight and cared.
News of Martin’s heroism spread through the village like wildfire. People who had once turned a blind eye to their poverty now offered smiles and words of encouragement. Even the gruff baker, who had always refused them credit, gave them a warm loaf of bread and a wink.
Sylvester Thorne, true to his word, didn’t forget Martin. He visited their small cottage, his presence filling the cramped space with an air of grandeur. He spoke to Martin’s mother, his voice gentle and respectful. He offered to pay for her medical treatment and to send Martin to school.
Martin, overwhelmed by the man’s generosity, looked at his mother, her eyes shining with hope. She nodded, her lips forming a silent “yes.”
Life changed for Martin and his family. His mother’s health improved, and he excelled in school, his sharp mind eager to learn. He never forgot the day he saved Sylvester Thorne, nor the kindness that followed. He understood that even in the midst of hardship, a single act of courage and compassion could change everything. And Sylvester Thorne, in return, learned that true wealth wasn’t measured in possessions, but in the lives he touched and the gratitude he received.
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