My sister accidentally sprayed perfume directly into my son’s eyes. My mother laughed, coldly remarking, “If he went blind, he wouldn’t have to know he was a burden.” My father chimed in, “At least he smells good now.” Little did they know that, right after that moment… everything would start spiraling out of control.
The first snowstorm of the season hit Connecticut earlier than expected, turning the Harrington family’s historic mansion into an isolated oasis amidst a blanket of white. Inside, the fireplace crackled, and the aroma of roasted turkey mingled with the scent of expensive red wine. It should have been a cozy Thanksgiving.
But for me, Elena, every time I stepped into this house was like entering hell.
I sat in the corner of the dining table, clutching the small, icy hand of my son, Toby. Six-year-old Toby has autism and a severe sensory processing disorder. He doesn’t speak, only communicates through eye contact and small murmurs. To my parents and sister, Toby isn’t a child who needs love. He’s a “technical defect” in the otherwise perfect genetic lineage of the Harrington family.
“Hey, Elena,” my sister, Brenda, said. She was 35, still single, living off her parents’ allowance and harboring the illusion of becoming an Instagram influencer. She was swinging a beautiful, crystal-clear bottle of perfume. “I just got this from a perfumer in Paris. ‘Mermaid’s Tears.’ $500 an ounce.”
Toby recoiled. He was extremely sensitive to strong smells. I tried to pull him away, but Brenda stood up, staggering toward us with a glass of wine in her hand.
“Let him smell it. He looks like a walking corpse,” Brenda sneered.
“No, Brenda! It’s too strong, he’ll be scared…” I hadn’t finished my sentence.
Brenda raised the perfume bottle, intending to spray it into the air above Toby’s head. But perhaps due to drunkenness, or deliberate clumsiness, she slipped. The spray nozzle went straight into Toby’s face.
Spray!
A thick, pungent mist, smelling of almonds and chemicals, assaulted my son’s large, round eyes and nose.
Toby screamed. A heart-wrenching scream, unlike anything he’d ever made. He clutched his face, writhing in his chair, his small body convulsing. His face flushed bright red instantly.
“Oh my God, Brenda!” I yelled, grabbing a napkin and dipping it in a glass of water to wipe his eyes. “What the hell are you doing?”
Brenda shrugged, returning to her seat, her face devoid of remorse. “It was an accident. What’s the big deal? It’s expensive perfume, you won’t die from it.”
My mother, Diane, was cutting a steak, glancing up at her grandson writhing in pain. She took a sip of wine, then chuckled – a soft, elegant, yet chilling laugh.
“Just leave him alone, Elena. If he goes blind, at least he won’t have to know he’s a burden. He can’t see anything anyway, and he’ll be depending on you for the rest of his life.”
I was speechless. The blood in my veins froze.
My father, Frank, who was reading the Wall Street Journal, put down the newspaper, glanced at Toby, and clicked his tongue:
“You’re right. At least he smells nice now. He always smells like hospital disinfectant.”
They laughed. All three of them laughed. Their laughter echoed through the luxurious dining room, mingling with my son’s pained groans.
They had no idea that in that very moment… things were about to spiral out of control.
Toby wasn’t just having stinging eyes.
He started wheezing. A terrible rasping sound came from his throat. His face swelled up, turning from red to purple. Red rashes appeared all over his neck and arms.
Anaphylactic shock.
I’m a nurse. I recognized the sign immediately. But Toby has never been allergic to perfume. He’s only sensitive to smells, right? Unless…
“What’s in there?” I yelled, rushing to my bag for the EpiPen I always carry. “Brenda! What’s in that perfume bottle?”
“Just essential oils… Almond, vanilla, and some secret stuff…” Brenda stammered, her face turning pale as she saw Toby collapse to the floor, his limbs convulsing.
Almond.
Toby has a fatal tree nut allergy. The whole family knows it. I’ve warned them a thousand times.
I rummaged through my bag.
Nothing.
Toby’s EpiPen was gone. I distinctly remember putting it in the outermost compartment before leaving the house.
“Where’s the pen? Mom? Dad? Has anyone seen Toby’s EpiPen?” I screamed in despair, sweating profusely.
My father calmly cut the meat. “How would I know? You always leave things lying around.”
My mother raised an eyebrow. “You probably left it in the car. But never mind, let him recover on his own. Back in the day, I raised you guys without needing any medicine.”
Toby began to drift in and out. His airway was closing.
I rushed to the front door to get the spare pen.
The door was locked.
I frantically twisted the doorknob. “Open the door! Where’s the key?”
“I locked it,” Frank said, his voice chillingly calm. “It’s a heavy snowstorm. No one is allowed outside. Sit down and have dinner, Elena, don’t spoil the atmosphere.”
I turned to look at them. Three faces. Cold. Cruel. And… waiting.
They were waiting for Toby to die.
A horrifying truth struck me, piercing my heart even more painful than the cold outside.
This wasn’t an accident.
The perfume had a strong almond scent.
The EpiPen was gone.
The door was locked.
And their eyes. Eyes yearning for liberation from this “burden.”
“You people…” I whispered, my hands trembling as I cradled Toby, who was turning purple. “You want to kill him.”
“Don’t use such harsh words, daughter,” my mother said, wiping her mouth. “We’re just helping you. You’re young, you’re beautiful. You shouldn’t bury your life with a disabled person. And… his life insurance policy is enough to save your father’s company.”
So that’s it. My father’s company was on the verge of bankruptcy. They had insured Toby.
“Give me the keys,” I growled, laying Toby down on his side on the floor.
“No,” my father stood up, a steak knife in his hand. “Sit down. It’ll only take five more minutes. Then we’ll call 911, report an allergic reaction. You’ll cry, and we’ll comfort you.” “Everything will be alright.”
Brenda still held the perfume bottle, blocking the back door.
I looked at Toby. His breathing was just a weak gasp. I didn’t have five minutes left. Not a single minute.
My maternal instincts surged, overwhelming all fear. I was no longer the obedient daughter. I was a cornered mother beast.
I glanced at the perfume bottle in Brenda’s hand.
“Give me the perfume,” I said, feigning calmness, walking toward Brenda. “Let me check the ingredients, maybe I can do some first aid.”
Brenda, you fool, believed me. “Yeah, take it, see if it can save her, I don’t want to go to jail…”
The moment my fingers touched the heavy crystal bottle, I didn’t check the ingredients.
I spun around, swinging my arm with all my might.
BAM!
I slammed the perfume bottle into Brenda’s face.
The crystal bottle shattered. Shatter. Shards of glass pierced her face. That damned perfume, reeking of almonds and alcohol, spilled into her eyes, nose, and mouth.
“AAAAAA!” Brenda screamed, clutching her face and falling to the floor, writhing in a cloud of blood and perfume.
“You bitch!” My father roared, lunging at me with a knife.
I didn’t back down. I grabbed the red wine bottle on the table and smashed the bottom against the marble edge. The wine splattered like fresh blood. I pointed the sharp glass shards at my father.
“Come here!” I yelled, my voice echoing like thunder. “Come here and I’ll kill you right now!”
My father froze. He had never seen this look in my eyes before. The look of someone ready to slaughter.
My mother screamed in terror, recoiling toward the fireplace.
Taking advantage of their hesitation, I didn’t fight them. My target was Toby.
I scooped Toby up. The boy The baby was limp.
I couldn’t open the front door. No time to find the keys.
I looked out the large French window overlooking the garden.
I hugged Toby tightly, shielding his head, then turned my back… and dashed straight through the window.
CRASH!
The glass shattered.
We fell onto the freezing snow outside. Shards of glass cut my back and legs, blood staining the white snow red. But I didn’t feel any pain.
I scrambled to my feet, carrying Toby, and rushed to the car. My car keys were always in my pocket.
My father jumped out of the window, knife still in his hand. “Stop!” “You’re not getting away with this!”
I started the car. The engine roared.
My father stood in front of the car, shielding me. He thought I wouldn’t dare. He thought I was still the same weak girl I used to be.
I looked into his eyes. Then I looked down at my dying child in my arms.
I stepped on the gas.
My father quickly jumped to the side, tumbling into the snow. The car sped through the blizzard, heading towards the nearest hospital.
Bridgeport Hospital Emergency Room.
I sat in the hallway, wrapped in a blanket, the blood from the cuts on my back having dried. Police officers were standing around me.
The doctor came out. His face was serious.
“Ms. Harrington?”
I jumped up, my heart stopping.
“Your son…” The doctor hesitated. “He’s out of danger. We gave him Epinephrine and intubated him in time.” “Just two minutes’ delay and the brain would have been permanently damaged.”
I collapsed to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.
“However,” the doctor continued, his voice sharp, “we analyzed the liquid on the boy’s face and on the shards of glass found in your shirt. It wasn’t ordinary perfume.”
The police chief stepped forward, handing me a bag of evidence. Inside were fragments of the crystal bottle of “Mermaid’s Tears.”
“It’s concentrated industrial almond oil, mixed with 90% alcohol,” the officer said. “And we found in your parents’ trash can a $5 million life insurance policy in Toby’s name, with your signature forged.” The ink on the contract was still fresh.
It turned out Brenda hadn’t bought the perfume in Paris. They had concocted the “poison” themselves in the kitchen. They knew that just a small amount sprayed into Toby’s respiratory tract would be enough to kill him, making it look like a rare allergic reaction.
“We’ve arrested Frank and Diane at their home,” the police said. “And Brenda… she’s being treated here. Her eyes are severely damaged by glass shards and alcohol. The doctors say…”
The officer paused, looking at me with a worried expression.
“Said what?” I asked.
“They said Brenda will be permanently blind.”
I laughed. A bitter, shaky laugh, tears still streaming down my face.
My mother’s curse
My prophecy came true.
“If he’s completely blind, then I won’t have to know I’m a burden.”
But the one who was blind wasn’t Toby.
It was Brenda. Her beloved daughter. The one who would now become a real burden in prison, with eyes that would never see the light again.
One year later.
Toby and I were sitting on a beach in Florida. The sea breeze blew through his hair. Toby was smiling, playing with the sand. He still wasn’t speaking, but his eyes were peaceful.
I looked down at the long scar on my arm – the mark of that stormy night.
My parents were serving 20 years in prison for conspiracy to commit murder and insurance fraud. Brenda had her sentence suspended for treatment, living in a correctional facility for the blind, alone and forgotten.
I took a deep breath of the salty sea air. No expensive perfume. No turkey. Only the smell of freedom.
Toby turned around and handed me a seashell. He nuzzled his head against my chest.
“I know,” I whispered, kissing his forehead. “I love you too. And you’re never, ever a burden to me.”
