The earth thudded dully against the coffin lid. Each strike hit Stella’s heart. Her daughter, Nancy, was gone at eighteen, her life cut short on a rain-slicked highway. Stella’s husband, Victor, stood apart, his face an unreadable mask of restraint. In twenty years of marriage, she had never learned to decipher what lay behind that mask.
“It’s time for us to go,” he said quietly as the mourners dispersed. In the car, his voice was cold, pragmatic. “We need to stop by the charity center. We need to sort Nancy’s things, give them away as soon as possible.”
A cold dread squeezed Stella’s heart. “Victor, it’s only been a few hours since the funeral.”
“That’s exactly why,” he cut in, his eyes fixed on the road. “The longer we hold on to the past, the harder it is to move on. It’s like ripping off a bandage. Better to do it quickly.”
This was not the man she knew. Or maybe, she was only just beginning to see him clearly. That night, she woke to the sound of his voice in the hallway. “Everything is going according to plan,” he whispered into his phone. “We’ll get rid of the things tomorrow. No, she suspects nothing.”
The next morning, Victor carried a stack of boxes into the bedroom. “I’ve arranged for movers to come the day after tomorrow,” he announced. “Today, everything needs to be packed.” He handed her a list, every item of their daughter’s life categorized for disposal.
“Victor, I can’t,” she pleaded, her voice breaking.
His face twisted with an unfamiliar anger. “Stop clinging to the past! Do you think this is easy for me?” He softened when he saw her recoil, wrapping his arms around her. “Sorry,” he murmured. “This will help us both heal. Trust me.”
She nodded, too weak to argue. Maybe he was right.
Left alone, Stella went to her daughter’s room. It was a bright, happy space, frozen in time. She sat on the bed where they had talked for hours about school, boys, and Nancy’s dream of becoming a marine biologist. She opened the wardrobe and began packing, each item a memory. A graduation dress. A winter scarf. Then, a blue silk dress, Nancy’s favorite. Stella pressed it to her face, inhaling the faint, familiar scent of her daughter.
Victor entered without knocking. He snatched the dress from her hands. “This is useless to anyone now. Don’t torment yourself.” He threw the dress into a donation bag and left.
Stella stared at the closed door, a cold certainty growing inside her. Something was wrong. Her gaze fell on Nancy’s school backpack. Inside, among the textbooks and notebooks, she found a folded piece of paper tucked into a biology book. It was a note, written in Nancy’s hurried, agitated hand.
Mommy, if you’re reading this, look under my bed immediately. You will understand everything.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. Stella dropped to her knees. Taped to the underside of the bed, in the far corner, was a dark, sealed box. As her fingers brushed against it, she heard Victor’s footsteps in the hallway.
By dinner, Stella had hidden the box in the bathroom ventilation shaft, the one place she knew Victor would never look. She came downstairs wearing a carefully rehearsed mask of grief and fatigue.
“I made a large donation to the school in our name,” Victor said over a dinner he’d ordered in. “For a memorial plaque for Nancy.”
Stella looked at him closely. Where did he get the money for a large donation? The documents she’d found spoke of serious debts. Unless… the insurance.
“That’s very generous of you,” she said, her voice steady, “especially considering our financial situation.”
“Business has been better lately,” he shrugged. “To Nancy’s memory,” he said, raising a glass of wine. Stella noticed a strange movement as he turned away for a second, a flicker of his hand over her glass. Paranoia? Or a warning?
“I’d better take a sedative instead,” she said, standing. In the bedroom, Victor was waiting with a glass of water and two white tablets—not her usual capsules. He watched as she pretended to swallow them, hiding them in her cheek until he left. She spat them into a tissue. She would find out what they were later.
The next morning, she knew she had to get out. “I need to stop by work,” she lied. “To sign some papers.”
“I’ll call you a taxi,” he insisted. “And track it to make sure you get there safely.”
A chill ran down her spine. He would know her every move. She had to improvise. She got out of the taxi a block from her office and sent a text to the one person she could trust: Rick Phillips, an old family friend, a retired detective. Urgent meeting needed. Matter of life and death.
He met her twenty minutes later at a waterfront cafe. “Stella,” he said, his eyes filled with concern. “What’s happened?”
“Nancy didn’t die by accident,” she blurted out. “Victor arranged it for the insurance money. And I’m next.”
Rick listened, his expression shifting from concern to professional gravity as she showed him the photos of the documents on her phone. Nancy, her brilliant, observant daughter, had compiled a complete dossier on Victor. His mounting debts, his secret mistress, two massive life insurance policies, and a series of damning text messages with a mechanic about “solving the problem with the stepdaughter.”
“And there’s this,” she said, pulling out the tissue with the pills.
Rick photographed them. “I’ll get these analyzed. If it’s what I think it is, we have him.” He pulled a tiny device, the size of a button, from his pocket. “It’s a microphone. Clip it to your clothes. The recording goes straight to my server. Get him to talk.”
“I have to go back,” she said. “The original documents are still in the house.”
“Be careful, Stella,” he warned. “Your safety is more important than any evidence.”
The movers were still at the house when she returned. Victor stood at the entrance, overseeing the erasure of their daughter’s life. “Where were you?” he asked, his eyes narrowed.
“The meeting ran long,” she said calmly.
When he left to supervise the loading, she slipped into the bathroom. She reached into the ventilation shaft. The box was gone.
A chill of pure terror washed over her. He knew. He had found it. She stepped out of the bathroom and froze. Victor was standing in the bedroom doorway.
“Looking for something?” he asked, his voice deceptively soft. He smiled a cold, alien smile and dangled a flash drive from his fingers—the one from Nancy’s box.
“You know, Nancy was a smart girl,” he said, his voice dropping. “Too smart for her own good. She became an obstacle.”
“An obstacle to what?” Stella asked, her heart pounding. The microphone was recording.
“To a new life,” he shrugged. “I’m tired, Stella. Tired of this marriage, this house. I needed money to start over. Nancy’s insurance was the first step. You were supposed to be next.” He spoke as if discussing a business plan. “A tragic accident. Grieving husband collects the insurance and disappears.”
“You’re a monster.”
“I’m a pragmatist,” he retorted. “But Nancy ruined everything. And now, you’re making the same mistake.” He advanced on her, his eyes glittering. “Who did you meet today? Who did you show the documents to?”
When she remained silent, he pulled out his phone. “No matter. GPS trackers are a wonderful thing.” He showed her the screen. The taxi’s route was mapped in red, ending directly at the Riviera Cafe. “Now, who was your companion?” He pulled up the cafe’s security footage.
At that moment, the movers called from downstairs. Victor yanked her arm, spun her around, and before she could scream, covered her mouth, pushing her toward the closet. He taped her wrists and mouth with practiced skill. “Sit quietly while I deal with them,” he hissed, locking the door behind him.
Panic surged. The microphone. Rick had to have heard. But how long would it take him to get here? She had to free herself. She spotted her phone on the dresser. Victor had forgotten it. Awkwardly, with her bound hands, she managed to unlock it and open her chat with Rick. She typed as fast as she could. In bedroom, 2nd floor, help.
She heard the movers leaving, Victor’s footsteps on the stairs. She grabbed a heavy desk lamp and stood behind the door. The key turned. The door opened. She swung the lamp with all her might.
He staggered but didn’t fall. He was stronger. He threw her against the wall and grabbed a syringe from a small suitcase on the bed. “I planned to make it quick and painless,” he growled, blood dripping from a scratch on his cheek. “Now it’ll be different. First, you’ll tell me everything. Then, we’ll go to the very bridge where Nancy crashed. A tragic story: a mother who couldn’t survive her daughter’s death.”
He lunged. She dodged. The syringe plunged into the window frame, the needle snapping. He roared with frustration and grabbed her by the throat. “Who knows about the documents?” he screamed.
Black spots danced before her eyes. She couldn’t breathe. Summoning her last ounce of strength, she kneed him hard. He gasped, his grip loosening, and she broke free, dashing for the door. But he caught her by the hair. “You’re not going anywhere,” he snarled, raising his hand to strike.
She braced for the blow, but it never came.
“Police! Hands up, Parker!”
Rick stood in the doorway, his weapon drawn.
Victor froze, then slowly raised his hands. “This is absurd,” he laughed. “A family quarrel.”
“A family quarrel with a syringe full of a lethal dose of medication and a confession?” Rick nodded toward the microphone on his lapel. “Everything is recorded, Victor. Every word. My team has a warrant. We found your mechanic. He’s already testifying about how you paid him to sabotage Nancy’s car.”
Victor looked around like a cornered animal, then lunged for the open window. He jumped onto the roof below just as backup officers stormed the house.
While Rick pursued Victor through the garden, Stella remembered the backpack. The car. She ran to the garage. Victor’s car was unlocked. In the trunk, she found it: Nancy’s backpack, and beside it, a canister of gasoline and a rope. He had everything ready to stage her suicide.
She carried the backpack out to the porch just as Rick returned with two officers, a handcuffed and defeated Victor between them.
“It’s over, Stella,” Rick said, his voice gentle. “He won’t hurt anyone else.”
The tears she had held back for days finally broke free. She sobbed, mourning her daughter, the lost years, the shattered life.
“I know,” Rick said softly, hugging her. “But now, she will have justice. And you will have a chance to live on, for her sake.”
She looked at the house where Nancy had grown up, now a crime scene, foreign and hostile. “I’ll pack my things,” she said, her voice raw. “And I’ll never come back here again.” Day by day, she would heal. For Nancy.