Chapter 1: The Trap in the Living Room
The word hung in the stifling, perfume-heavy air of the living room like a drawn bowstring.
Mother took a deliberate step backward, her knuckles whitening as she clutched the pearl necklace at her throat.
"She went into labor early yesterday evening, Daniel.
There were complications.
Excessive bleeding.
By the time the midwife arrived, it was too late."
"A midwife?" I echoed, my voice dangerously low.
"You didn't call an ambulance?
You didn't take her to St.
Jude's, where her obstetrician was waiting?"
Caleb took a long drag from his glass, the ice clinking against the crystal.
"You know how Emily was, bro.
She was all about 'natural home births' and off-grid doctors.
She didn't want the hospital."
Lies.
Pure, unadulterated garbage.
Emily had high blood pressure.
We had discussed her birth plan over encrypted satellite calls every week of my deployment.
She was scheduled for an elective C-section at St.
Jude's tomorrow morning.
She feared home births more than anything on earth.
"Where is the midwife?" I asked, turning my gaze to Caleb.
"She left after the baby was delivered," Caleb muttered, looking everywhere in the room except at my uniform.
"Said she had another patient in Idaho."
An out-of-state midwife with no paper trail.
A coffin delivered to my home before a death certificate could even be issued by the county coroner.
They had rushed this entire stage production to burn her body before I got off the transport plane from Fort Bragg.
"I'm going upstairs to see my son," I said softly, stepping around the wooden edge of the coffin.
"Daniel, wait," Mother said quickly, placing herself between me and the staircase.
"He's asleep.
He's had a traumatic twenty-four hours.
Let me go up and—"
"Get out of my way, Mother."
The authority in my voice wasn't that of a dutiful son; it was the tone I used on tactical assault teams in Helmand Province.
Mother flinched, her lips pressing into a thin, bloodless line, and she stepped aside.
I took the stairs two at a time, my combat boots deadening against the plush carpet.
The nursery was bathed in the soft glow of a nightlight.
Seated in the rocking chair by the window was Sarah, a local girl my mother had hired as a housemaid six months ago.
She jumped to her feet the moment I walked in, her hands trembling so hard she almost dropped the bottle she was holding.
"Mr.
Daniel!" she gasped, her eyes darting nervously toward the doorway behind me.
"I...
I was just feeding him."
I didn't answer her.
I walked straight to the crib and looked down.
A tiny, delicate baby wrapped in a yellow swaddle blanket was wriggling against the mattress.
Dark blue eyes opened, staring up at me with profound, quiet wonder.
A small tuft of dark hair — just like Emily's — crowned his head.
My chest crushed inward as a sob threatened to rip its way out of my throat.
I reached down with a bare hand, gently brushing the pad of my thumb against his velvet-soft cheek.
"Hey, little guy," I whispered, my voice breaking.
"Daddy's here."
I glanced at Sarah.
The girl was shaking, her eyes wide with unspoken terror.
"Sarah," I said, keeping my back turned to the door.
"What happened to my wife yesterday?"
"I...
I wasn't here, sir," she whimpered, her hands wringing the cloth apron around her waist.
"Your mother told me to take the day off.
When I came back this morning...
Mrs.
Emily was...
she was already..."
"Did Emily leave anything for me?" I asked, lowering my voice to a bare whisper.
"A note?
A bag?"
Sarah swallowed hard.
She leaned in close, her breath smelling of peppermint and nervous sweat.
"Check the ventilation grate in the master closet," she whispered in a rush.
"She hid her laptop behind the drywall before they locked her in."
---
Daniel just came home from deployment to find a coffin in his living room — and now Sarah's words are ringing in his ears.
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What did Emily hide in that laptop?
Comment **"NEXT"** if you want Part 2.
