The key turned in the lock with a soft click that seemed to echo through the empty hallway like a gunshot.
Sarah stood frozen at her own front door—her black funeral dress still wrinkled from the long flight home, her father’s funeral program clutched in her trembling hand. The house felt different somehow, charged with an energy that made her skin crawl.
She could hear voices upstairs, muffled but distinct.
A woman’s laugh.
A man’s voice she knew better than her own heartbeat.
Her husband, Alexander, was supposed to be at work.
He told her he couldn’t make it to the funeral because of an important client meeting that would secure their future.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” he’d said, kissing her forehead as she packed her suitcase with tears streaming down her face. “You know I’d be there if I could. Your dad would understand.”
Now, standing in their marble foyer with her luggage still in her hands, Sarah felt something cold and sharp twist in her stomach.
The voices were coming from their bedroom.
Their bedroom.
The same room where Alexander had held her just three nights ago, whispering promises about growing old together, about the family they’d build, about forever.
She set her suitcase down carefully, her movements slow and deliberate, like she was moving through water.
Each step up the carpeted stairs felt like walking toward the edge of a cliff. The voices grew clearer with each step.
Alexander’s deep laugh—the one that used to make her feel safe and loved—now sounded foreign and cruel.
And the woman…
Sarah’s blood turned to ice.
She recognized that voice.
Rebecca. From Alexander’s office.
The same Rebecca who’d sent a sympathy card when Sarah’s father got sick.
The same Rebecca who’d smiled at Sarah with such warmth at the company Christmas party just four months ago.
“She’ll never find out,” Alexander was saying as Sarah reached the top of the stairs.
“She’s too trusting, too naive. And honestly, after we’re married, we’ll have access to everything. Her father was loaded.
There’s got to be an inheritance coming.”
Sarah’s hand flew to her purse, where the sealed envelope her father had pressed into her hands just hours before he died still sat unopened.
“Don’t tell anyone about this yet,” he’d whispered, his voice barely audible over the beeping machines. “Not even Alexander. Wait until you’re ready.
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