“MALCOLM! MY BACK HURTS!” Amy shrieked down the stairs. Malcolm sighed and looked around at the dirty kitchen. She’d be furious if she saw the room anything less than spotless, but she was truly frightening when she called for him and he didn’t jump to run and do her bidding.

Ten seconds later, he was running towards his wife’s shrieks. “About time!” she huffed. “I’ve been calling for hours!” Malcolm raised an eyebrow, knowing full well that she hadn’t called any longer than ten seconds ago, but said nothing. He had learned to remain silent unless Amy gave him permission to speak.

Amy’s pregnancy went smoother than anyone could have imagined. First pregnancies were usually hard on women, the doctors would tell Malcolm when he took her to her doctor’s appointments. They commended him for being such a supportive partner and Malcolm would smile and thank them, insisting that he was happy to help with the pregnancy and birth of his first child, but only he and Amy knew that Malcolm was being tormented and bullied into being her slave.

They’d been asked on numerous occasions if they’d like to know the sex of the baby, but they both said no. Malcolm assumed Amy wanted to keep Malcolm fearful, and as for Malcolm, he was just too scared to know the truth. He’d find out soon enough, anyway.

Amy’s entire pregnancy went without a hitch. With Malcolm there to rub her back when she was sore, read pregnancy books with her and cook whatever she was craving at that moment, Amy felt well enough during her pregnancy to make use of the indoor pool and admire herself in the mirror for hours on end. She’d also taken to going to the spa on her maternity leave every day to get manicures and pedicures and full body packages. At first, Malcolm wondered where on earth she was getting all this money, since her job didn’t pay well enough for such luxuries and they were starting to have trouble paying the large bills for their high-end beach home. Then he “stumbled” upon Amy’s bank statements while cleaning her room and found out that his parents were paying Amy 1,000 simoleans a month in child support for their son, since Malcolm was still a minor.

As furious as he was at Amy for thinking of herself before her baby’s needs, Malcolm kept his mouth shut and waited with baited breath for the due date to arrive. As Amy’s stomach grew larger, he grew both more excited and more terrified. He was going to be a daddy! Him! Malcolm Femme! He was going to have a little baby to cuddle and feed and play with! For the first time since he got married, he’d have someone to love and who would love him back. The thought brought happy tears to his eyes, but he still feared what would happen if Amy had a boy. That was the only reason why Malcolm desperately wished for a little girl. Otherwise, he wouldn’t care as long as his baby was healthy and happy.

One morning, very early, just as the sun was rising over the ocean behind their home, Malcolm heard the shrieks of his wife from downstairs. Cringing, thinking that he had accidentally left some dust on the mantelpiece or something while cleaning, he made his way downstairs to see what she wanted. His eyes widened when he saw Amy struggling to stand with water dripping between her legs. She was crying. “The baby’s coming. Help me,” she whimpered before groaning as another contraction hit.

For a moment, Malcolm stood there, stunned. She was crying. She was scared. This was one of those very few moments he had experienced where his wife didn’t look like an evil, controlling monster. He had only ever witnessed those moments right after they had finished making love and Amy’s wide blue eyes sparkled and she looked content and peaceful. Those fleeting moments made Malcolm question whether or not his wife really was evil to her core or not. Now here she was, crying and in pain, terrified of having her first baby and not sure of what do to.

Malcolm stepped up to the occasion and took his wife to the hospital, holding her close and comforting her softly the entire way. She clung to him like a normal, loving wife would do in her moment of need.

Several hours later, Amy walked through the door of their house, back to her usual cold self. Following her was Malcolm holding a little bundle of blue blankets… a baby boy named Tim. Malcolm went upstairs and settled the baby in his crib. “I know your mommy’s harsh sometimes, but be good for her, okay? Daddy doesn’t know if he’ll get to stay with you much longer,” Malcolm whispered, tears filling his eyes. “Goodbye, Tim. I love you.”

He came back downstairs and Amy said nothing to him, simply raised an eyebrow and held up three fingers. Malcolm understood. He had gotten three strikes.

Later that night, the television set in his room broke and he knelt down to fix it when the door opened and Amy walked in, carrying a small bowl of water. Malcolm’s heart stopped. “Wh-what are you doing?” he stammered.

“Three strikes,” was all she said before dumping the water on him and Malcolm’s entire body seized up, convulsing with electric shocks, before crumpling in a heap. Malcolm Femme was dead.

It wasn’t hard for pretty, innocent-looking Amy to convince the police of her tearful story when they showed up to investigate. “Oh officers! My husband! My poor, poor husband!” she’d wept. “I told him not to bother fixing that piece of junk in the spare storage room, but he insisted! I told him no one uses that room and it wasn’t a big deal, but my Malcolm just couldn’t stand the thought of something being broken in the house… why did he have to fix it right after getting out of the shower? Why?!?” she’d bitterly sobbed as the police officers drank in her little act.

They recorded Malcolm Femme’s death as a freak accident, and Geoffrey and Nancy grieved the loss of their only child with Amy, having no idea that they were consoling their son’s murderer.

As for Tim, well, Amy had no use for him. She’d wanted a girl, so why did she have to get stuck raising a boy she didn’t want? She bundled her first-born child up in his blankets and snuck out with him in the middle of the night, being careful to avoid being seen. She found a dark alley behind the diner she frequented and placed her son in their trash dumpster.  Little Tim started to cry. He was alone in a smelly, dark place and his mother was leaving him there. Why was his mother leaving him? He wanted his mommy to snuggle him and tell him it would be okay and take him home to his nice, warm crib and give him his cuddly teddy bear.

But Amy didn’t do that. She turned her back and walked away. Anyone watching would have seen a heartless monster abandoning her baby in a dumpster to die, but if they looked a little closer, they’d see the tears running freely down Amy’s porcelain cheeks and the pain in her eyes. “Please let someone find him…” she whispered to no one in particular before heading home.

The disappearance of Tim Femme was not questioned by anyone. As far as everyone knew, Amy had sent her son to live with her parents in Riverview, not being able to provide for him properly in her grief over her late husband, and all of Sunset Valley pitied Amy Femme, the poor, unfortunate widow.