The young madam looks at the woman glaring up at her, blood seeping from her mouth and body. How she wasn't dead yet was a mystery. The young madam rock the baby in her arms to and fro. It's tiny fingers curl around her pinky, with tiny toes peeking from the blanket, dangling in the summer breeze. His head, a crazy mass of black curls wobbles beneath her supporting hand. The young madam can't believe how this tiny baby, vulnerable, awe-inspiring and beauty could come from such a malicious woman.
The newborn peer through brand new eyes at what must be such a strange world after life in the womb. His legs kick in a tiny jagged motion, looking for that resistance they are used to, but finding nothing but air. He lets out an agitated cry. The glaring woman looks up anxiously at the young madam eager for sight of her baby.
"I'll keep Young Master safe, though he has you for a mother, he'll know no harm, feel no pain; so, die for me.
"He's my son." The bloody woman says, glaring up at the young madam.
"Not anymore, Cong Wei Yang, he'll never know you, he'll grow up thinking I'm his mother. You'll never have a place in the Young Master's heart. He'll call me Mama."
The woman was furious hate burned in her heart as she screams, "Second Wife."
YOU ARE READING
Second Wife
Historical FictionBeing a second wife is rather like learning to perfect a set of aerial maneuvers. There are seriously complicated stunts involved: trapezing around the first wife, learning when to appear and disappear at exactly the right moments, tolerating your m...
