Chương 6
Shopping lists.
Random reminders.
I had teased him about it because he refused to use digital notes.
"He left that in the car?"
"Yes."
"Why is that important?"
Officer Ortiz looked at the notebook.
"Because some of the entries concern you."
My mouth went dry.
"Can I see it?"
"Not yet."
The answer frustrated me.
But I understood.
Evidence was not something people handed around because emotions demanded it.
"Does it prove anything?"
"It raises questions."
That was becoming the phrase of my new life.
Questions.
Suspicion.
Things almost understood.
"Such as?"
He looked at the closed door.
"Such as why your husband had written instructions about your workplace security system."
My stomach dropped.
The freezer.
The lock.
The override.
"He planned how to trap me."
"We believe he researched the system."
"How long?"
"We are still investigating."
I looked down.
A memory appeared suddenly.
Not a big memory.
Not some dramatic moment.
Just Victor standing in our kitchen three months earlier.
He had been drinking coffee while looking at his phone.
I had asked why he was reading about warehouse equipment.
He told me it was because he was curious about my job.
I had laughed.
I had kissed him.
I had told him it was sweet that he wanted to understand my work.
The memory made me feel embarrassed.
Not because I had trusted him.
Because I had defended him without knowing what I was defending.
"Clara."
I looked up.
Officer Ortiz's voice was softer.
"Is there anyone else who might have known about the insurance policy?"
I thought about it.
Then stopped.
Because one answer appeared immediately.
"Victor's brother."
The officer wrote it down.
"Why?"
"Because he helped Victor with financial problems before."
"How do you know that?"
"Victor told me."
"When?"
I searched my memory.
"Last year."
"What did he say?"
I looked toward the window.
"He said his brother was the only person who understood how bad things were."
Officer Ortiz looked interested.
"How bad?"
"Debt."
"Did you know the amount?"
"No."
Another piece of the puzzle appeared.
Another thing I had never asked.
Because I thought I was being supportive by not asking.
After the officer left, I stared at my phone.
There were still messages from Victor.
I finally opened one.
I expected an apology.
A threat.
A lie.
Something.
Instead, it was a photograph.
My breath stopped.
It was a picture of the nursery.
The room we had spent months preparing.
The two cribs.
The small blankets.
The painted walls.
Under the photo was a message.
"I never wanted this to happen."
I looked at the screen until the words blurred.
Then another message appeared.
"I need you to believe me."
I turned the phone off.
Because for the first time since meeting him, I understood something terrifying.
Victor was not just trying to escape what he had done.
He was trying to rewrite it.
And if he succeeded, I would not only lose my husband.
I would lose the truth.
I knew then that the hardest part was not proving Victor had tried to kill me.
The hardest part was proving it to people who had never seen the side of him that I had finally seen.
The side that could smile while making plans.
The side that could say he loved me while calculating what my absence would be worth.
The hospital became a strange place after that.
Everyone around me was trying to protect me, but everyone also needed something from me.
Doctors needed answers about my condition.
Police needed details.
Investigators needed memories.
Family members needed reassurance.
And somewhere underneath all of it, I needed to figure out who I was without the person I had spent years building my life around.
My mother called the next afternoon.
I almost did not answer.
Not because I did not want to hear her voice.
Because I did not know how to explain what had happened.
Mothers had a way of hearing the parts you did not say.
"Clara?"
The second she spoke, my eyes filled.
"I'm okay."
There was a pause.
A very long pause.
"You always say that when you are not."
I looked at the hospital blanket covering my legs.
"I almost died."
The silence on the other end changed.
Not empty.
Broken.
"What happened?"
I told her.
Not every detail.
I could not say every detail.
Some things still felt impossible when spoken aloud.
When I finished, she did not immediately tell me what to do.
That was one reason I loved her.
She had always been the kind of person who wanted to fix things but knew when something was too large for quick answers.
"Are the babies okay?"
I smiled faintly.
"Yes."
"Then breathe."
I closed my eyes.
"I don't know how I missed it."
My mother's voice softened.
"Because you loved him."
"That feels stupid now."
"No."
Her answer was firm.
"It feels painful."
I wiped my face.
"There is a difference."
I stayed quiet.
She continued.
"Do not turn his choices into a reason to punish yourself."
I wanted to believe her.
But guilt was strange.
It did not always come from doing something wrong.
Sometimes it came from surviving something someone else caused.
That evening, Officer Ortiz returned with an update.
Victor's brother, Marcus, had been located.
He had not run.
He had gone to work that morning like nothing happened.
That detail bothered me.
People who knew they were connected to something terrible usually acted like people expecting consequences.
Marcus had acted normal.
Sometimes normal was the most suspicious thing.
"Where is he now?" I asked.
"Being interviewed."
"Does he know Victor tried to kill me?"
Officer Ortiz looked at the floor for a moment.
"We believe he knows something happened."
That answer bothered me.
"Something?"
"He is claiming Victor asked him for financial advice."
"Did he know about the insurance?"
May you like
"We are trying to determine that."
Everything was becoming a collection of people who knew enough to matter but not enough to admit it.
