The flaps came apart and I looked inside.
For a second, my brain couldn't process what I was seeing. I couldn't make sense of it. There was something small wrapped in plastic, and tissue paper, and— I pulled it out. And then I saw it. A finger. A tiny fucking finger. A baby's finger with Sontae's Spider-Man Band-Aid still wrapped around it.
The scream that came out of me didn't sound human. It was something primal, something from the deepest pit of hell. I dropped the box, stumbling backward, my whole body shaking.
"NO! NO NO NO NO NO!"
Mya grabbed me but I couldn't stop screaming. I couldn't stop seeing it. That tiny finger. My baby's finger.
Sosa came running in from the back of the house, his eyes wild.
"What happened? What's wrong?"
"LOOK!" I screamed, pointing at the table. "LOOK WHAT THEY DID! LOOK WHAT THEY DID TO MY BABY!"
He moved to the table and looked down. I saw the exact moment it registered. His whole body went rigid, his face draining of color.
"Did you pay them?" I asked, my voice breaking. "Did you pay the ransom, Sosa? Please tell me you paid it!"
He didn't answer. He just stood there staring at the finger.
"SOSA!" I screamed, grabbing him, "DID YOU FUCKING PAY THEM? DID YOU GIVE THEM THE MONEY?"
"I..." he started, but his voice cracked.
"Answer me!" I was hitting him now, pounding on his chest. "Did you pay them? Tell me you paid them!"
"I didn't," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Everything stopped. The world stopped spinning. My heart stopped beating.
"What?" I breathed.
"I didn't pay them," he said again, louder this time. "Ain't no nigga gon take me for all my fucking bread. Fuck these niggas, they thought—"
"YOU DIDN'T PAY?" I screamed, and this time I really hit him, with everything I had. "THEY HAD OUR SON AND YOU DIDN'T FUCKING PAY THEM?"
"Yah-Yah, listen—"
"NO!" I was swinging on him, crying so hard I could barely see.
"YOU LET THEM KILL OUR BABY OVER MONEY? OVER FUCKING MONEY?"
"I was gonna pay, I just, I was trying to negotiate, I thought I could—"
"NEGOTIATE?" I shoved him as hard as I could. "YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD NEGOTIATE WITH THESE NIGGAS? THEY TOOK OUR BABY, SOSA! THEY TOOK HIS FINGER!"
I collapsed, my legs giving out, and Mya tried to catch me but we both went down. The box fell off the table, and the finger tumbled out onto the floor along with a piece of paper.
Mya picked up the paper with shaking hands and read it out loud
"Now you can bury your baby boy." The room went silent except for my sobs.
Now you can bury your baby boy.
Bury. Bury. My baby. My two-year-old baby who loved trucks and asked me for pancakes every morning and called me "Mommy" in the sweetest little voice. Just gone, just like that, all because his father wouldn't pay.
I looked up at him through my tears and I didn't recognize the man standing there. This wasn't the man I loved. This wasn't the father of my child. This was a stranger. A monster who valued money over our son's life.
