A month had passed since Liam recovered his memories. During all that time, he endured the abuse from both his father and his mother, lowering his head, hunching his shoulders, accepting the shouting and the blows without protest. But it was worth it.
During that month, Liam acted like the same frightened five-year-old boy: he cried when he was supposed to cry, hid when he was told to, trembled when voices were raised at him. Meanwhile, he observed in silence, analyzed every gesture, every routine, every repeated word. He watched his parents with cold attention, searching for constant patterns in their behavior and thinking, day after day, about what the best course of action would be.
Finally, after a month, Liam had the perfect plan to cause his father's death.
And today was the day.
It was Sunday, and on Sundays his father always came home drunk and in a foul mood. It was when he paid the least attention to his surroundings, when his steps were clumsy and his mind clouded by alcohol.
It was ten at night. Liam should have been in his bed, under the blankets, pretending to sleep. But instead, he was hidden in the kitchen, crouched among the shadows, his back pressed against the cold wall and his bare feet on the floor. He breathed slowly, holding back any sound, waiting for everything to happen exactly as he had planned.
Ten minutes later, heavy footsteps were heard approaching from outside. Dragging. Uneven.His father, completely drunk, was entering the house.
Liam watched him coldly from the darkness. His eyes followed every movement, every stagger. The lights were off, and his father's silhouette advanced little by little, unaware that in a few minutes he would stop breathing forever.
The door burst open.
"BOOM!"
The sound echoed as it slammed against the wall.
"WHY THE FUCK AREN'T YOU GREETING ME?!" he shouted, his voice broken with rage, spitting the words. "It's always the same—this useless family I got stuck with, a wife who can't even handle the house, and a kid who only knows how to hide like a coward."
He swayed forward, unsteady, bracing himself against the wall for a second before straightening up. His bloodshot eyes fixed on the stairs, with clear intentions of punishing his wife and child.
Liam watched him coldly from the darkness, without moving. His expression did not change.
His father began climbing the stairs like he always did on Sundays when he came home drunk. Step by step. Heavy. Clumsy.Liam had noticed that no matter how drunk he was, he always stepped on the same spot just before reaching the top of the stairs.
That was why he had placed a small tack right there.
At any other time, it would have only caused pain.But now, with his father drunk, furious, and unbalanced… it would be far more dangerous.
"AHHHH! What the fuck did I just step on?!" his father screamed as sharp pain shot through his foot.
Liam watched coldly as his father jerked his foot up, losing his balance, unable to react properly in his drunken state. His arms flailed in the air, searching for something to grab onto.
He found nothing.
Moments later, he began to fall uncontrollably.
His head slammed hard against the stairs, producing a dry, brutal sound.
"Crack—"
The horrible sound of his neck breaking echoed through the house.
His father continued falling, his body striking the steps until he lay motionless at the bottom of the stairs.
At that moment, Liam stepped out of the kitchen. His footsteps were slow, deliberate. The dim light revealed his small figure approaching.
To his surprise, his father was still alive.
His eyes moved desperately. His breathing was uneven.For the first time that night, he was conscious.
"Liam…" he whispered. "Please… call emergency services…"
His trembling hand tried to lift itself.
Liam remained silent, watching him writhe through his final minutes. His face showed neither fear nor hesitation.
His father looked at him more closely.
And when he saw the coldness in his son's eyes, his own widened in horror. He understood—far too late—what stood before him.
Then hurried footsteps were heard upstairs.
His mother ran down the stairs… and stopped dead when she saw her husband agonizing on the floor.
But then she saw him.
Liam.
Her own son stood there, watching her.
His eyes were cold, calculating, almost detached from the situation destroying her world. The child who had once clung to her knees, crying, was now something strange. Something terrifying.
There were no tears.No pleas.
Only the icy calm of someone who had made decisions beyond a mother's understanding.
She took a step back, trembling. Her breathing quickened.She couldn't look away from those eyes she no longer recognized.
There was no love in them. No fear.
Only the shadow of something that had grown in secret. Something that belonged to his father… and was now looking at her.
"Liam…" she whispered, her voice breaking. "What have you done?"
He didn't answer.
He just kept looking at her. His lips curved into a minimal smile, almost imperceptible, as if he knew nothing could stop him now.
In that instant, she understood that the child she knew no longer existed.
What stood before her was someone who would never be innocent again.Someone who had learned to survive with a heart of ice.
"Mom," Liam said, his voice soft but firm. "I don't want anyone to get hurt. I just want you to stay with me."
She blinked, confused. Rage, guilt, and fear tangled inside her.It was as if she were facing someone who knew exactly what she would do… even before she did it.
"I… I don't know…" she stammered.
"You don't have to know," Liam continued. "Just do what I ask. Do it for me, and everything will be fine. No one else has to suffer…" His eyes locked onto hers. "No one else has to die."
His mother stepped back, trembling, and finally sank to her knees. Not out of physical obedience, but from the crushing weight of guilt and fear consuming her.
Before her stood someone who could anticipate her movements.Someone who looked at her without judgment… but with terrifying power.
"I'll do whatever you say," she whispered, barely audible. "Just… just promise me nothing will happen to me…"
Liam leaned slightly toward her and smiled, faint and controlled.
"I promise," he said. "Just do it for me."
And in that moment, his mother understood that he was in control.Not because he had threatened her with violence, but because his gaze and frozen calm made it clear that disobeying him was no longer an option.
The station phone rang.
Officer Anderson answered in his usual serious tone. A female voice, trembling but steady, filled the line.
"Officer… I need you to come to my house," Liam's mother said, feigning fear.
"What happened, ma'am? Is anyone hurt?" Anderson asked.
"My husband…" She paused, forcing a sob. "He fell down the stairs. He was drunk. I… I couldn't do anything. It was an accident, I swear."
The officer took notes.
"Understood. I'm on my way. Don't touch anything."
When he arrived, Anderson found the woman sitting in the living room, her hands shaking, her gaze fixed on the staircase.
"Explain exactly what happened," he requested.
"I… I didn't do anything," she repeated. "He was drunk… he tripped… broke his neck…"
Anderson noticed the fear. The guilt.And something else.
But he didn't press her.
Meanwhile, Liam lay on his bed, completely still, listening to everything from the darkness of his room.Every word.Every silence.
Evaluating everything.
His mother's voice, heavy with guilt and fear, reached him muffled through the walls.
She didn't know he was there.
Watching.