WonNovels

At 11 a.m., while my husband was slowly suffocating in the bathtub, I was down by the playground slide in our apartment complex, chatting with the other moms.

The slide sat directly beneath the bathroom window of our unit—no more than a few dozen feet away in a straight line.

If I had gone home at 11 as I usually did, I could have saved his life.

But that day, Lily’s mom had just bought a new dress. She was so enthusiastic, she invited several of us to her place to admire it.

At 11:10, when my daughter and I finally got home, my husband was already dead.

At the funeral, I was inconsolable—collapsing again and again, grief knocking me unconscious.

Everyone pitied me. Everyone sighed.

My mother-in-law, Linda Carter, an elementary school principal whom I had never met in person, traveled all the way from the far Northwest. In front of everyone, she walked straight up to me.

Her expression was resolute. Word by word, she said:

“You are the murderer who killed my son.”

1

That day was an ordinary late-summer Saturday.

Ethan Carter had stayed up late for work the night before, so he slept in a bit. He didn’t sit down at the dining table for breakfast until 10 a.m.

At 10:05, my daughter Mia urged me downstairs for the eighth time.

As I squatted by the door to tie Mia’s shoelaces, she bobbed her head and made a silly face at her dad.

“Daddy is a big lazy bug. The sun’s already on your butt before you get up—shame on you, Daddy!”

Ethan Carter let out a muffled laugh and made the same silly face back.

“Mia is a little troublemaker. Every day you have to drag Mommy downstairs to play—shame on you too, Mia!”

I was juggling a water bottle and tissues. Just as I opened the door, something occurred to me, and I turned back to remind him:

“Honey, Mia is definitely going to be drenched in sweat again today. Remember to start the bathwater early so she can wash right away when we come back.”

The bathtub filled slowly—it took more than twenty minutes to get it anywhere near full.

Ethan Carter held a bun in one hand and saluted with two fingers at his temple with the other.

“Don’t worry, ma’am. Mission guaranteed!”

I rolled my eyes.

“We’re going!”

The slide was right downstairs—always the busiest place in the whole complex. Kids ran everywhere. Parents clustered in circles, chatting.

After sitting with a few familiar moms for a while, I patted my pocket and realized I’d rushed out without my phone. I turned to Lily’s mom beside me.

“What time is it? I left my phone at home.”

Lily’s mom, showing off, pulled out her brand-new folding phone and announced loudly:

“10:40.”

The moment she finished speaking, the second-floor bathroom window in my unit opened.

Ethan Carter stuck his head out, smiling as he called down to me:

“Babe, I started the water. Play a little longer and then come up!”

I glanced at Mia, sweating and having the time of her life, and gave an OK sign. “Got it!”

Ethan Carter then politely waved to the moms to say hello before closing the window.

The moms sighed in admiration.

“Your husband is seriously the perfect husband—handsome, great personality. I heard he became a partner this year, right? That’s gotta be, what, hundreds of thousands a year?”

“Hundreds of thousands? Not even close. A lawyer at his level makes at least a million a year. Mia’s mom, you can be a stay-at-home mom without a single worry.”

“He’s capable and still comes home on time every day. Weekends he helps with chores and cooking. Always smiling, no bad habits. Compared to mine… honestly, it’s like heaven and earth.”

“I don’t even envy the money—I envy your marriage. Just look at that car accident. He really would’ve died for you.”

The moms nodded, full of envy.

Half a year ago, Ethan and I were driving to buy houseplants when an eighteen-wheeler rear-ended us. The car flipped. The front burst into flames.

His side—the driver’s side—ended up on top. He was pulled out quickly. I was pinned underneath, unable to move.

As the fire grew, everyone backed away. Everyone—except Ethan Carter.

He went crazy, yanking and pulling again and again. His hands were sliced open, blood pouring. He screamed hoarsely, “Please save my wife—please, save her!”

When he finally dragged me out with sheer force, less than five seconds later, the car exploded.

Someone filmed the whole thing and posted it online. It went viral. People said I must have saved the galaxy in a past life to find a husband who loved me this much.

Remembering that scene, my eyes stung.

Ethan Carter usually looked like a gentle, polished professional. I never expected him to be that fierce, that fearless, when it mattered.

Afterward, two fingers on his right hand never fully recovered; he couldn’t do fine movements anymore. I cried every time I looked at them.

He patted my head and smiled as he comforted me.

“It’s okay. I make my living with my brain. Even if I lost two more fingers, it wouldn’t stop your husband from providing for you.”

And at that moment—

Surrounded by the other moms’ admiration, I nodded honestly.

“Yes. He really is the perfect husband.”

2

“My husband isn’t bad either,” Lily’s mom said, raising her voice.

“My husband went to Paris this time and brought me back several designer dresses. Gorgeous. Come on—come to my place and I’ll show you!”

Lily’s mom had married an older man. She constantly displayed how much her husband adored her, as if proving she hadn’t married for money but for love.

I smiled and shook my head. “I’m not going. I need to take Mia upstairs for a bath. You guys go.”

Lily’s mom loved competing with me. She immediately looked displeased.

“Didn’t your husband just say you could come up later? Going to my place won’t take long. Don’t tell me you won’t even give me that much face.”

At 11:00, I left Lily’s mom’s apartment.

At 11:05, I caught Mia sprinting wildly near the slide, grabbed her, and dragged her home.

At first she refused.

She pleaded, “Just five more minutes,” “Mommy, please, the last five minutes,” but I shut it down with “The bathwater will get cold.”

She had to say goodbye to her friends one by one, sulking. The parents sitting nearby watched with amused smiles, sharing a knowing look with me.

At 11:08, Mia and I reached the second floor. Our single neighbor across the hall, Ryan, was coming out to take out the trash. His face flushed slightly as he greeted me.

Mia tugged his hand sweetly and asked when he could help her build LEGO again. Meanwhile, I took out my keys and opened the door.

At 11:09, while Mia said goodbye to Ryan in the corridor, I called, “Honey,” but no one answered. I walked into the bathroom.

At 11:10, I screamed.

Ethan Carter’s pale face was submerged beneath the water. His eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling.

He was already dead.

3

A lot of people came to the funeral.

Ethan’s colleagues and friends. Neighbors from the complex. Even representatives from a charity organization holding a memorial banner.

Only then did everyone learn: over the past few years, Ethan Carter had been donating through that charity to help children in impoverished rural areas—more than twenty thousand dollars a year, totaling well over a hundred thousand.

People sighed in disbelief.

“What a good man. God has no eyes—why would something like this happen to him? Good people die young, and the wicked live forever.”

“He did so much pro bono work. He’d just been promoted to partner this year. He even said he was going to work even harder for his wife and child… and then…”

“They loved each other so much. How can Mia’s mom survive this? She’s fainted several times in just a few days. Thank goodness the community center staff have been staying with her.”

“Mia’s mom has no income. Their place still has a mortgage. If Ethan were alive, it would’ve been paid off in a year or two. Now… life is going to be hard.”

“It’s such a freak accident. They say he passed out in the tub, and then the water ran for twenty minutes, slowly covering his mouth and nose. If he’d woken up at any point, or if Mia’s mom had come home—she could’ve saved him. But… I guess it was fate.”

In the rustling whispers, I sat pale and hollow, staring at Ethan’s photo, dazed.

These past few days, I’d been swallowed by grief—crying until my insides felt torn apart, fainting again and again. Anyone would pity me.

A community social worker sat beside me, offering warm words from time to time.

Lily’s mom came over, guilt all over her face.

“Mia’s mom… I’m so sorry. If you hadn’t come to my place and lost time that day… maybe, maybe Ethan wouldn’t have died.”

By the end of the sentence she covered her mouth and burst into tears.

I shook my head miserably.

“No. It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I told him to start the water early. I forgot my phone so he had to open the window to call down to me and that made him fall. I said I’d be home at eleven but I dragged my feet and came back ten minutes late. It’s all my fault. I did this. I killed him…”

The social worker hurried to stop me.

“Mia’s mom, you can’t think like that. These things happen by pure chance—no one can control them. And the police said it themselves: it was an accident. A tiny-probability accident.”

That day, when I screamed, Ryan was the first to rush in. The moment he realized what had happened, he blocked Mia outside the door and called 911.

After examining the scene and interviewing people, the police reconstructed what likely happened:

10:40 — Ethan Carter started the bathwater and opened the window to talk to me.

Because the window was to the side of the tub and opened inward, he had leaned sideways to stick his head out. When he closed it, he lost his balance, fell into the tub, and passed out.

10:40–11:00 — The water rose slowly until it covered his head.

11:00–11:05 — After five minutes of drowning, Ethan suffocated to death. He never regained consciousness. There were no signs of struggle or splashing.

11:10 — I came home and discovered the scene.

During that time—from Ethan appearing at the window to me returning—the hallway showed no one entering or leaving. No suspicious traces were found. It was classified as an accidental death.

Someone sighed.

“It really is like that saying—when Death wants you at midnight, who can keep you alive till dawn… Huh? Who’s that at the door? It’s scorching outside—why is she dressed so heavily?”

“Seriously. Isn’t she hot?”

I kept my head down like a walking corpse, unaware of everything around me.

“She’s walking toward Mia’s mom.”

“Don’t tell me she’s one of those people who comes to the bereaved family asking for some ‘gift money.’ That would be outrageous—this isn’t some celebration.”

A pair of women’s gray sneakers came into view.

They were old, patched with a small piece of matching fabric, dusty as if they’d traveled far.

“Mia’s mom—do you recognize me?”

A slightly weathered voice spoke.

It was close—right by my ear.

I slowly lifted my head.

An elderly woman’s face.

Dry, wrinkled skin. White at the temples. But beneath drooping lids, her eyes burned sharp.

In the heat of summer, she wore a thin wool coat completely out of season. One arm hooked through a worn black handbag. In the other hand, she carried an old enamel mug.

“I’m Linda Carter,” she said. “Your mother-in-law—the one you’ve never met.”

I stared at her blankly. Exhausted neurons began to connect… to assemble… to click—

My eyes widened.

“Mom?”

Linda Carter nodded slowly.

“Good. You recognize me.”

People crowded closer.

“So this is Ethan’s mother… ah, a parent sending off a child. Please accept our condolences.”

“It’s good you’re here. Family can support each other. At least Mia’s mom and the child won’t be so alone.”

Someone tried to take Linda’s bag and mug. She shook her head and refused. She turned to look at Ethan’s funeral photo, then fixed her gaze directly on me.

“The day I learned my son was dead, I left Garlan and traveled here without stopping,” she said. “Because I needed to tell the police one thing.”

She stared at me, resolute, each word carved out:

“You are the murderer who killed my son.”

4

After saying that, Linda Carter turned and left. No one could stop her.

She appeared out of nowhere.

And vanished just as suddenly.

As if she had come only to say that sentence.

Everyone looked at each other, stunned, and then came to comfort me.

“Mia’s mom, she must be out of her mind with grief. Don’t take it to heart. You can’t be both heartbroken and angry right now.”

“Yeah. An old lady from the countryside, no understanding of the situation. Someone probably told her nonsense and she believed it. Later you can talk it out.”

“Why have we never seen Ethan’s mom before? He dies and suddenly she shows up—could she be here to fight for the child and the money?”

“Not just seen—never even heard of her! Mia’s mom, she just said you’d never met. Are you sure she’s really his mother?”

I didn’t answer. I was so weak I could barely hold myself up.

The social worker handed me a cup of hot tea.

“Alright, everyone. Stop asking. The most important thing is finishing the funeral properly and letting Mia’s mom rest. Everything else can be handled later.”

I lowered my head and sipped the tea. My mind cleared a little.

Yes.

Linda Carter really was Ethan Carter’s biological mother.

Eight years ago, when Ethan and I married, I saw her for the first time—on a video call.

When Ethan was fifteen, she divorced his father, left everything behind, and went to teach in the far Northwest. Mother and son separated. They hadn’t been in contact for years.

After Ethan’s father died and Ethan became financially stable, he finally tracked her down and wanted to bring her back to be cared for.

She refused. She said when she chose to go teach in the mountains, she had sworn she would never leave that land.

In recent years, Ethan had traveled to see her twice on his own. As for me, I spoke with her briefly only once a year—on Mia’s birthday—through a short video call.

Now, I was drowning in confusion and bewilderment.

Why had this woman, who swore she would never leave the far Northwest, suddenly come all this way?

Why had she suddenly accused me with those words?

Lost in grief, I couldn’t make sense of it.

After the funeral, Linda Carter did not leave the city.

She stayed.

Not in my home, of course. She settled in a cheap motel near downtown.

Late at night, the moon hung high, looking down on the world’s joys and sorrows.

I sat alone, wiping tears as I stared at Ethan’s photo, and I made a decision.

No matter why she had come—

For the child.

For the assets.

Or because of some misunderstanding—

She was still my husband’s mother. My child’s grandmother.

I couldn’t completely ignore her.

5

The next day, I packed some basic supplies—bedding, sheets—and knocked on Ryan’s door across the hall.

When he saw me, his gaze trembled.

He fumbled with his hair and clothes, flustered.

I expressed as gently as I could that I needed help and asked if he had time, if it would be convenient to drive me somewhere.

“Of course,” he said. “Anytime.”

Ryan drove Mia and me to the cheap motel near downtown.

The place was old and dim. A sign outside read: “Rooms from thirty-something dollars a night.”

“Mom,” Mia said in her childish voice, “Grandma lives here? It’s so broken. Can we let Grandma stay at our place?”

I sighed.

“Grandma is… stubborn. She won’t agree.”

Ryan came over carrying bags.

“Mia’s mom, there’s too much. I’ll bring it up for you.”

I hesitated. “No, it’s too much trouble. Just wait here.”

Ryan’s face held concern. In a warm voice he said:

“That day she said those things to you. If you’re alone with her, what if you argue? If I’m there, I can keep an eye on things—mainly so Mia doesn’t get scared.”

I gave a bitter smile and nodded. “Thank you. Sorry to trouble you.”

When I saw Linda Carter again—

She was sitting in that bare room, fiddling with her phone.

When she saw me in the doorway, she froze for a moment, then stood up, calm and steady.

I took a deep breath and spoke slowly.

“Mom. I know you probably don’t want to move back in. I brought you some things. Whatever misunderstanding you have about me, I hope—if only for Ethan and Mia—you won’t refuse this small kindness.”

I glanced back at Ryan.

He carried the bags inside, set them down, and silently retreated into the hallway.

Linda Carter stood there without speaking.

No acceptance. No rejection. Just a blank face.

Mia walked up timidly and whispered:

“Grandma… why won’t you come home with us? Mommy says Daddy went on a business trip far away and won’t be back for a long time. Can you live with us and wait for Daddy together?”

For a split second, Linda’s eyes softened. Her rough palm stroked Mia’s head. The corners of her deeply lined eyes reddened.

“Mia, sweetheart. Grandma has something very important to do. For now… I can’t go back with you.”

“Grandma, I miss Daddy. Do you miss Daddy too?”

“Yes,” she said. “Grandma… misses him very much.”

She looked calm, but her trembling voice betrayed what she tried to hide.

I turned to Ryan and whispered something.

He immediately came in and coaxed Mia downstairs first.

The room was left with only Linda Carter and me.

That cheap motel was wedged between rows of high-rises, with only a thin slice of daylight slipping through the battered window.

The noise outside only made this narrow corner feel more silent.

“I already filed a report,” Linda Carter said, watching me evenly.

I paused, then sighed softly in the dim doorway.

“As for suspecting me, the police already cleared that. I had no time to do it, no method, and no motive. Ethan’s death harms my life in every way and benefits me in none. How could I possibly kill him? Mom, I truly don’t understand—why are you so certain I would want my husband dead?”

“So that’s why you came today?” Linda’s voice was steady. “You’re curious how someone thousands of miles away could know you’re the real murderer—so you came, didn’t you?”

A sense of helpless grief rose inside me.

I wanted to speak, but anything I said felt meaningless.

“If you’re determined to believe I’m the killer,” I said quietly, “then wait for the police to conclude their investigation.”

I turned and left.

I’d taken only a few steps down the corridor when Linda’s voice rumbled behind me.

“To be honest… at first, I wasn’t completely sure.”

“But you came today—and you brought that young man with you. You wanted to mislead me into thinking you had an affair with him, didn’t you? You wanted to steer the police down that path so they’d chase nothing…”

“Now, I’m sure you’re the killer.”

The last word fell, and the hallway plunged into sudden silence.

I slowly turned back.

In that cramped, shadowed corridor—

I met her stare in silence.

6

I was summoned to the homicide division for questioning.

It was the first time in my life I’d walked into a police department’s homicide unit. I was nervous and helpless to the point that when an officer handed me a cup of water, my hand went limp and I spilled half of it onto his sleeve.

“You don’t have to be that tense,” one of the officers said, calming me. “The deceased’s mother filed a report, so we’re following procedure and rechecking.”

“We already have your basic movements that day. We just need to confirm a few things. Please answer truthfully.”

I nodded silently.

“First question: who suggested starting the bathwater early?”

“I did.”

“Why?”

After a few seconds, I spoke slowly.

“Mia is very energetic. Every time she plays, she’s soaked in sweat. The tub fills slowly—it takes more than twenty minutes to fill most of it. I was afraid she’d catch a cold, so I asked Ethan to start the water early. I thought when we got home, she could wash immediately.”

“Okay. Second question: why didn’t you bring your phone that day?”

I murmured, “I don’t know. Normally I would never forget it. But that day I did. It was on the shoe cabinet. I just… forgot.”

The two officers exchanged a look, then continued.

“This summer, almost every morning around 10, you take your child downstairs to play near the slide for an hour, then go home at 11. But that day, why did you go back ten minutes late?”

My eyes reddened, my voice thick.

“I went to a neighbor’s apartment. I didn’t want to go. But I’m thin-skinned. If people push a little, I feel embarrassed…”

“Your husband died in your own bathroom. Why was your neighbor Ryan also at the scene?”

“Ryan?” I froze, searching my memory. “When I came in, Mia was still talking to Ryan in the hallway. I called for my husband and got no answer, so I went to the bathroom… The bathroom faces the front door. I collapsed at the doorway and screamed, and Ryan rushed in—”

The older officer suddenly let out a cold laugh and cut me off sharply:

“Mrs. Carter, from the last moment Ethan Carter showed his face at the window to the moment you discovered the body—every step of yours has a perfect witness. Don’t you think that’s a little too convenient?”

I stared at him, then lowered my head, covering my face with both hands. Sobbing leaked through my fingers.

“Yes. It’s all my fault. For over twenty minutes, my husband died slowly, alone and helpless, while I—unhurried—wasted time in Lily’s mom’s apartment, wasted time coaxing Mia back, wasted time talking to the neighbor in the hallway.”

“I killed him!”

“I’m the one who killed my husband!”

The words came out trembling.

Grief, pain, panic, self-blame—violent emotions surged through my body, already stretched to its limit.

I couldn’t hold on anymore.

I fainted.

…

When I woke up, I found myself lying in a small infirmary.

At some point, the wind had risen outside.

It blew the window open and carried faint whispers from the hallway in.

“Do you think she’s suspicious?”

“Hard to say. Her alibi is full of coincidences, but each step also makes sense in her daily routine. We asked before—Lily’s mom said inviting her over was a spur-of-the-moment thing. The neighbor across the hall was taking out trash and ran into her by chance. Besides…”

“Besides what?”

“Besides… when most people are suspected, they fight hard to clear themselves. She’s the opposite—she keeps pulling blame onto herself. Some things she could explain clearly, but she says vaguely. That kind of behavior… either she’s truly shattered and out of her mind, or she’s an exceptionally gifted criminal psychologically and intellectually.”

“A regular housewife who was so nervous she couldn’t even hold a cup of water? You provoke her and she loses control… you think she could be?”

“I don’t know. But even if she is, there’s still one key problem we can’t explain.”

“What key problem?”

“The method.”

“Right. Even if she’s a one-in-a-million genius who planned every detail, how could she guarantee Ethan would open the window and fall? And if he fell, how could she guarantee he would pass out right into the bathtub—”

“Sorry to interrupt,” I said quietly, and both voices stopped. “My daughter is alone at home. May I leave?”

The two officers spun around, startled, staring at me standing behind them.

My eyes were downcast, my face pale, so weak I could barely stand.

The older officer cleared his throat. “If you’re alright, today’s questioning can end.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, and turned to leave.

After two steps, I turned back and spoke slowly.

“Officer, I don’t know what my mother-in-law did that made you reopen the investigation. But for me and my child to live peacefully, I think I should make something clear.”

“I don’t understand your talk about alibis and methods. But I do know: if someone does something, there must be a reason. I have no reason to kill my husband. I’m sure you’ve investigated that thoroughly.”

“Thank you for your efforts for my husband’s case. Truly.”

I bowed to them and left.

When I walked out of the homicide unit compound, they were in the hallway, smoke curling from their cigarettes.

“What did you just say?” one muttered. “You said we deliberately let her overhear us. Psychologically, when a perpetrator sees police trapped in a maze because of her, she’ll subconsciously show a genuine reaction when alone. Then we give the surveillance footage to a microexpression expert to analyze… But she just walked over herself, so what is this?”

The older officer took a drag and spat at his partner.

“It’s called wasted effort.”

7

I went to the homicide unit in the morning. By the time I got home, it was already dark.

Dragging my exhausted body, I knocked on Ryan’s door.

He was a freelance concept artist, usually home. Today, I’d left Mia with him.

Mia carried a pile of toys into my place. Ryan lowered his voice suddenly.

“Mia’s grandma started livestreaming.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What?”

“The day before yesterday, when I waited with Mia downstairs at the motel while you went up, I heard the front desk clerk complaining that this rural old lady was learning how to livestream and was driving her crazy. I kept it in mind. The past two days I scrolled online, and sure enough I found it. Look—this channel. Not many viewers, but she’s been live all day.”

After he turned on the TV for Mia—her full attention captured by cartoons—I went into the bedroom.

Leaning against the headboard, I closed my eyes and thought for a while. Then I took out my phone and found the livestream titled “Truth Will Never Be Buried.”

Linda Carter sat properly in front of the camera.

Still wearing that old thin wool coat. Behind her was the motel’s peeling white wall.

Sparse comments drifted by.

【Old-lady filter? Looks kinda good.】

【She’s real! Her son died and she suspects her daughter-in-law did it. She’s asking for help online!】

【Got it. Another one making a scene online for sympathy. In the end it’s either for traffic or to squeeze more money.】Linda Carter’s eyes moved slightly. She spoke.

“I don’t want money. I’m an elementary school teacher. My monthly salary is a little over two thousand dollars.”

【Yeah right, you don’t want money. If you want truth, call the police. Why are you online?】

【I live in that apartment complex. This was an accident. Her son and daughter-in-law had a great relationship. They’re that couple from the highway crash half a year ago—the one with the explosion.】

【Oh! I remember! That news shocked everyone. The husband nearly died saving his wife. I cried!】

【I remember too! Husband risking his life to save his wife, and now the wife kills him? No way.】

【Ma’am, maybe go see a doctor. You can’t accuse someone based on imagination.】Linda Carter stared at the screen and said calmly:

“I am not imagining it. I already filed a report.”

“I learned how to livestream not for money, not to take the child, and not for traffic. I just… want the truth for my child.”

“My son, Ethan Carter—since he was little, he was smart, cheerful, polite. A gifted child. Everyone liked him. Everyone praised him. Once, I twisted my leg outside, and he clenched his teeth and carried me for miles home. He was only eleven—skinny, small, barely to my shoulder.”

“At fourteen, he came home waving his state exam results, so excited to tell me. But that day, I was divorcing his father. I was leaving that home.”

“I still dream about him like that sometimes. He clung to my clothes, helpless and terrified, crying over and over, ‘Mom, don’t go.’”

Tears slid from her eyes, down her lined cheeks.

“A week ago, my son Ethan Carter died. Thirty-five—his life in its prime—drowned in his own bathtub.”

“Everyone tells me it was an accident. But I know it wasn’t. Someone killed him.”

“Back then, I ripped my hand from his. Now I’ve come back to find him. I may be a mother with no power, no connections, no ability—but since I’m here, I will not let my son die alone, unclear, and wronged.”

Her voice was old and tired, but her eyes were bright beyond belief.

A mother’s tenderness and stubborn strength wove together through her.

The livestream fell silent.

Then the comments surged.

【I don’t think she’s acting. Nobody can act that real.】

【Auntie, we’ll help you!】

【I recorded this. I’ll cut it into clips and repost. More people might see it and someone might have info.】I stared at the screen.

At Linda Carter’s face.

8

“Mom.”

I jerked my head up.

Mia had come in at some point and was standing beside me.

I quickly turned off the phone and forced a smile.

“What is it?”

She held up a pretty box, excited.

“Mom, look! I found a secret!”

In the living room, Mia and I sat on the rug and slowly opened the gift box.

The first thing inside was a delicate card.

On it, in bold, messy handwriting, was a line of words.

Mia was in first grade. Ethan had spent time every night teaching her to read. She recognized two or three thousand characters by now.

She read the card one character at a time.

“Happy birthday to the biggest wife in the family. Be happy and beautiful forever! Forever and ever—love your husband.”

“Haha,” Mia said. “It’s Daddy’s birthday present for you.”

I stared at the luxury handbag inside the box, silent.

Once, Ethan and I had seen this bag while shopping. I liked it a lot, but the price tag was over four thousand dollars, so I only admired it a few extra moments.

I never thought Ethan had secretly bought it.

My birthday was next week.

He must have planned to surprise me.

Suddenly Mia hugged me, her voice breaking with grievance.

“Mom… why isn’t Daddy back yet? I miss Daddy so much. Every night I miss him so much I can’t sleep. When is Daddy coming back?”

I held her tightly.

“Daddy went very far away. He won’t be back for a very, very long time. Don’t be afraid. Mommy will always be with you.”

A tear fell quietly onto her hair.

Then another.

…

When Mia finally fell asleep in her little bed, her eyes were still swollen and red.

I kissed her cheek and left the children’s room.

Late summer had cooled. Outside, rain started to patter loudly against the window.

With the rain as background, I walked through the silent apartment.

Past the living room.

Into the bathroom.

The bathroom where Ethan died.

I took out my phone and opened Linda Carter’s livestream.

She was still live.

There were more viewers now. Comments poured in as people helped her analyze possible motives.

She stared at the screen, responding one by one.

“It wasn’t a romantic affair. Police checked. Neither of them had relationship issues.”

“It wasn’t for money. They each paid half their savings to buy this place when they married. They’ve been paying the mortgage ever since. My son also donated to charity every year. They didn’t have much saved.”

“They didn’t buy insurance.”

“…”

I set my phone on the vanity.

As Linda Carter’s voice continued in the background—

I slowly turned and looked at the bathtub.

The inner corner of the tub was sealed tight against the bathroom corner.

I climbed over.

Lightning flashed outside.

The bathroom ceiling light flickered twice with a buzzing “zzzt.”

Without lifting my head, I gripped the corner and lifted.

A hidden space appeared. Inside was a stack of neatly folded papers.

“They grew up in different regions,” Linda Carter’s voice said. “One in the South, one in the North. They met in college, fell in love—no prior connection.”

I straightened slowly from the tub.

One by one, I opened the papers.

Every page was covered in writing.

Filled with diagrams, angles, calculations.

A person’s height. The maximum angle the window could open. The bend of a body leaning out. The possible positions and landing points if someone fell—

When I reached one page, I stopped.

In neat handwriting across the top were small words:

“Backup Plan Seven: Steps and Probability Analysis.”

In the center was a drawing: an adult male lying on his back in a bathtub, water slowly rising to cover his mouth and nose.

I took out a basin and put all the papers inside.

Lightning split the sky again. The light went out.

The bathroom fell into darkness.

I struck a match and tossed it into the basin.

The flame stretched slowly, licking the papers.

All the words, the diagrams—vanishing into ash.

I never liked handwriting.

But digital files always leave traces.

After flushing every bit of black ash down the toilet, I turned and stared at the old face on my phone.

In the silent dark, I whispered—

“Linda Carter… why did you say that?”

At the same time, Linda Carter stared into the camera.

“Why would she want my son dead…?”

9

I listed the apartment for sale.

Linda Carter came to my door.

She stood in the doorway.

“You can’t sell the apartment.”

I was surprised by how quickly she’d learned. Then I remembered her livestream audience, and it didn’t feel strange anymore.

I spoke slowly.

“The mortgage is more than three thousand dollars a month. There are still fifteen years left. I can’t afford it.”

“I have no income. Mia and I need enough money to live on until I find a job.”

“Ethan’s burial also requires expenses.”

“If I don’t sell, what other choice do I have?”

Linda Carter stared at me, each word heavy.

“The dead haven’t rested.”

I leaned against the doorframe and sighed softly.

“But the living… still have to live, don’t they?”

Footsteps clattered in the stairwell.

The community social worker, Lily’s mom, and a group of neighbors came up carrying bags.

They saw Linda Carter and looked surprised.

Lily’s mom suddenly raised her voice.

“Aunt Linda, we all went to the police station yesterday—voluntarily—to prove Mia’s mom is innocent.”

Several neighbors chimed in.

“Yes. We’re her witnesses.”

“Auntie, you’re confused. Mia is your own granddaughter. Doing this hurts them too much. They’re already miserable enough.”

Linda Carter didn’t speak. Her thin lips pressed into a line.

She didn’t enter. She didn’t leave.

People shook their heads, sighed, brought the condolence gifts inside, and tried hard to comfort me. When I escorted them out, Linda Carter was still standing in the corridor.

I thought for a moment and said to her:

“I’m definitely selling. Legally, I have every right to dispose of this property. Standing here won’t change anything. If you won’t come in, I’m going to close the door.”

Just as the door was about to shut, Linda Carter suddenly spoke.

“Were you a victim’s family member in that serial case—the one that targeted disabled people?”

My hand left the doorknob.

I lifted my eyes slowly, looking at her.

Her gaze didn’t dodge mine. The corridor was quiet, her voice deep:

“I received a private message through the platform—from someone who says they know you from your hometown. She told me your mother had polio, and she was one of the victims in that serial murder case.”

“Ethan only came to see me twice, but we video-called often. Over these years, he told me almost everything—work, life—but he never mentioned this, so he probably didn’t know.”