Suddenly, Mark remembered something. He frantically pulled out. the rings taken from the body.
Looking at the tiny engraving inside – “LMM” – his tears fell onto the clear evidence bag.
The other detectives had assumed it was the victim’s initials.
But in truth, it was my declaration of love for him- “Love Mark Martin“.
He finally believed that there, on the examination table, lay his wife. His Alice.
1/2
And there, clearly visible during the autopsy, was the small, developing life in
Two months.
Just as I had told him that day in our kitchen.
Just as he had dismissed as another lie.
my
womb.
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Just as Emina had convinced him was a manipulation.
Mark’s legs gave out. He collapsed into a chair, his eyes fixed on the evidence of his unborn child.
“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no…”
His hand reached out, hovering over my stomach, but couldn’t bring himself to touch it.
The truth he’d refused to see was now impossible to deny.
His wife had been telling the truth.
His child had been real.
And now we were both gone.
Watching him from beyond, I wanted to scream, to make him understand that his blindness, his devotion to Emma, had cost not just my life, but our baby’s too.
But I was just a corpse now.
A body on a cold metal table.
Proof of all the truths he’d refused to believe until it was too late.
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