"My pregnant daughter was resting in a casket—and her husband arrived acting like it was a gala. He strolled in laughing with his mistress on his arm, her heels echoing on the chapel tiles like applause. She even leaned in close and whispered, “Guess I win.” I choked back my scream and stared at my daughter’s pale fingers, still, forever. Then the attorney stepped toward the altar, clutching a sealed envelope. “Before she is laid to rest,” he declared, his voice cutting, “her final testament must be read.” My son-in-law smirked—until the attorney spoke the first name. And the arrogance melted right off his face."

Julian froze. He looked at me, then slowly turned his gaze to Vivienne.

“You told her,” he growled, dropping the whiskey bottle. It shattered on the cheap carpet.

Vivienne screamed and scrambled backward against the wall. “I had to, Julian! She knows everything! The medical examiner found it in her system!”

Julian laughed. It was the same cruel, hollow laugh that had echoed through the chapel.

“You think you can prove it?” Julian sneered, walking over to his duffel bag and pulling out the shaving cream can. He unscrewed the bottom and dumped three small glass vials onto the bed.

“It’s synthetic,” he bragged, his narcissism overriding his survival instinct. “It mimics pre-eclampsia. No local cop is going to run a specific tox-screen for an experimental cardiac inhibitor. Clara was weak. She couldn't handle the pregnancy. That’s the story, and it’s going to stick.”

“She wasn't weak,” I said, my voice rock steady. “She knew exactly what you were doing. She left a video diary, Julian. She documented everything.”

Julian’s arrogant smile finally broke. Pure panic washed over his face. He lunged for the vials on the bed, desperately trying to gather them to flush them down the toilet.