The newly widowed husband sat dazed at the altar, his eyes red from crying. His wife had died suddenly of a heart attack. Amid the pain and chaos of the funeral, he took care of everything: welcoming visitors, organizing arrangements, preparing for the burial.
He could barely cope with his own exhaustion.
On the morning of the funeral, he suddenly realized his phone was missing. He searched everywhere, asked family members, but no one knew anything. “I’m sure I left it somewhere,” he thought, and tried to concentrate on the ceremony.
The coffin was sealed and taken to the cemetery. Even with his heartbroken, he forced himself to stay strong for his daughter.
That night, when only he and the girl remained in the cold house, he received a message from his own number:
“Love, I’m still here. Don’t let them fool you.”
He froze, cold sweat running down his back.
Then he remembered: perhaps he had dropped his phone inside the coffin, at that moment when he bent down to see his wife for the last time, just before it was sealed.
But… who could have sent that message? His wife was dead, there was no doubt about it: the doctor had confirmed it, and the death certificate was signed.
Trembling, he typed back:
“Is it really you?”
The reply came immediately:
“Believe me. I didn’t die of a heart attack.
I was poisoned.”
The man felt the ground disappear from beneath his feet. His wife, so good, how could anyone want to harm her?
He asked again, with sweaty hands:
“Who did it?”
The message appeared on the screen, brief and chilling:
“A relative… within the same house.”
He looked around at the empty living room, the flickering candle on the altar. His daughter was asleep in the bedroom.
Who could have done it? His brother-in-law? A relative greedy for the inheritance?
Then another message arrived:
“Open the wooden drawer… you’ll understand.”
He ran to the cabinet where he kept documents.
He opened the drawer with trembling hands. Beneath some papers, he found a bottle of pills, the label torn off, and only a few white pills inside.
He remembered the previous night: his wife’s cousin had brought him a glass of warm milk. She drank it… and less than an hour later, the crisis that ended his life began.
The man collapsed, drenched in sweat.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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