An ear-splitting wail echoed through the house as Walter stepped in from the garage. His wife, Abby, sat in the kitchen with a distraught look. He knew immediately that Logan’s cries were wearing her down again.
“Oh, honey,” he said, hugging her from behind. “How long has he been crying like that?”
“I’ve tried everything, Walter!” Abby broke into sobs. “He’s been fed, changed, bathed, burped—I even took his temperature! Nothing works. He just won’t stop crying!”
They had become parents only a month ago, and Logan’s cries always tore at Walter’s heart.
“Come on,” he said gently. “We’ll figure this out together.”
They went to Logan’s room. Walter walked up to the crib cheerfully—only to freeze. Inside wasn’t Logan, but a dictaphone, wailing through its speakers, and a folded note. He hit stop, and the house fell silent.
“What did you do?” Abby called from behind. Walter didn’t answer. He was staring at the note in his hand, numb. Abby snatched it away and read aloud:
“I warned you you’d regret being rude to me.
If you want to see your baby again, leave $200,000 in the luggage lockers near the pier.
Go to the police, and you’ll never see him again.”
“Oh my God!” Abby gasped. “What does this mean? Was I rude to someone? Were you? Who would take Logan?”
Walter’s mind flashed back to the maternity hospital—the janitor he’d insulted after tripping over the man’s broom and breaking a gift he carried for Abby. He remembered the janitor’s parting words: “You’ll regret it!”
“It must be him,” Walter muttered. “We have to go to the police, Abby.”
“The note said not to! What if we never see Logan again? We should just pay!”
“We don’t know if paying will bring him back. Think about it—he’s just a janitor. He wouldn’t know if we went to the police, and since we know where he works, they can arrest him quickly.”
Reluctantly, Abby agreed.
But as they pulled up outside the station, Walter’s phone buzzed.
“This is your first and last warning. Step into that police station, and your kid goes into the bay. Get the money. Now.”
Abby gasped. Walter scanned the street, but there were too many people. The only choice now was ransom.
On the way to the bank, Abby’s condition worsened. She vomited twice. Walter pulled over.
“I’m taking you home first. Don’t hate me for it—it’s for your own good,” he said. Abby didn’t protest. She just whispered, “But Walter… does that kidnapper even know how to care for a newborn?” and broke down in tears.
Walter’s chest clenched with dark images of Logan crying in some locked room. But he forced himself to act.
He got the money, left it in the locker, and circled back. Soon he spotted the janitor picking up the bag. Walter leapt out, followed him through crowded streets, and cornered him at another row of lockers.
“Where’s my son?” Walter shoved him against the steel doors. “I gave you what you wanted. Now bring Logan back!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” the man stammered. “Someone paid me $100 to move the bag here. I swear—I’ve got kids myself. I’d never harm a child.”
Walter searched his eyes. The man wasn’t lying. And when Walter opened the locker, his stomach dropped. It was empty. A hole had been cut in the back.
He returned home in despair—only to find Abby gone. All her belongings were missing. At first he feared she’d been taken too, but then it hit him: no kidnapper would bother packing up her hand lotion. Abby had taken Logan herself.
Betrayal crushed him. She had insisted on paying, insisted on going home. Abby was behind everything.
But Walter had one advantage: the money had been fake. He still had a chance.
He went to the maternity hospital and bribed a doctor to call Abby. The man phoned her with alarming “news”—that Logan had a rare genetic condition and needed urgent treatment.
Within hours, Abby showed up at the hospital—with Logan in his uncle James’s arms. Police and FBI agents swarmed.
“You’re under arrest for kidnapping!”
Abby screamed, “My son is sick! He needs a doctor!”
“No, he isn’t,” Walter said firmly, stepping forward. “There’s nothing wrong with Logan.”
Abby’s eyes burned. She lunged at him but was restrained and handcuffed alongside James.
Walter hugged Logan tightly, tears spilling down his face. He thought it was finally over—until Abby spat her last venom.
“You think you’ve won? Logan isn’t even yours! You couldn’t get me pregnant, remember? He’s James’s son!”
Walter froze. James couldn’t even meet his eyes.
But Walter’s voice was steady as he kissed his son’s head. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll adopt him if I have to. He’s my son. And I’ll watch him grow up while you rot in prison.”
And with that, Walter carried Logan home—determined never to let him out of his sight again.
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Source: thecelebritist.com
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