“Easy. Easy.”
“My baby?”
The nurse smiled.
“Your son is alive.”
I burst into tears.
For the first time since the fall, I allowed myself to cry.
Not from pain.
Not from fear.
From relief.
“He’s strong,” the nurse said. “The doctors are monitoring you both.”
I closed my eyes.
“Michael…”
The nurse’s expression changed.
“He’s not here.”
I opened my eyes.
“What?”
“He’s been asking for you.”
My heart stopped.
“Who?”
“The police.”
A cold feeling settled over me.
“What did they tell them?”
The nurse hesitated.
“They believe you were involved in an accident.”
Of course they did.
Michael had already built the story.
The grieving husband.
The tragic fall.
The pregnant wife who slipped on the ice.
A horrible accident.
A dead woman.
A grieving husband.
A fifty-million-dollar payout.
Everything fit.
Except one thing.
I was alive.
And Michael didn’t know it.
Three days later, I learned that Michael had already held my funeral.
The police showed me photographs recovered from the scene.
The weather had destroyed most of the evidence.
But not everything.
One photograph showed the ridge.
Another showed Michael standing beside a rescue officer.
He looked devastated.
His head was lowered.
His hands covered his face.
He looked like a broken husband.
I almost laughed.
Then the officer showed me another photograph.
It had been taken from a distance.
Michael was standing beside Ashley.
She was holding his arm.
And neither of them looked sad.
They looked relieved.
I stared at the photograph.
“Where was this taken?”
“Outside the funeral home.”
My stomach twisted.
“That’s Ashley.”
The officer nodded.
“We know.”
He placed another file on the table.
“There’s something else.”
Inside was a copy of my life-insurance policy.
Fifty million dollars.
The beneficiary was Michael Carter.
But beneath that was a handwritten note.
The officer slid it toward me.
“Someone found this in Michael’s vehicle.”
I looked at the writing.
My blood ran cold.
Because I recognized it.
It was Michael’s handwriting.
Only five words had been written.
After the funeral, we collect.
I stared at the sentence.
Then I looked up.
“When is the funeral?”
The officer answered quietly.
“It was yesterday.”
I slowly leaned back.
Yesterday.
The day they buried an empty coffin.
The day Michael stood beside Ashley and smiled.
The day he believed he had finally won.
The officer watched me carefully.
“There’s one more thing you should know.”
“What?”
“Your husband has already filed the insurance claim.”
I said nothing.
“He believes you’re dead.”
For the first time since the cliff, I smiled.
It wasn’t a happy smile.
It was the smile of someone who had finally understood the advantage she had.
Michael thought I was gone.
He thought the money was coming.
He thought the evidence was buried with me.
He thought there was no one left to contradict his story.
He was wrong.
Very wrong.
I looked down at my stomach.
My son moved beneath my hand.
A tiny kick.
A reminder.
We had survived.
And now Michael was going to learn exactly what it meant to make a mother fight for her child.
But before I could tell the officer what I wanted to do next, his phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed almost immediately.
“What?”
He listened.
Then looked at me.
“That’s impossible.”
“What happened?”
He lowered the phone slowly.
“The funeral home called.”
My heart began pounding.
“They found something inside the coffin.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“A woman’s wedding ring.”
My breath caught.
“That isn’t mine.”
The officer’s face went pale.
“That’s what I thought.”
He opened the file again.
A photograph was attached to the report.
A gold wedding ring.
My wedding ring.
The one Michael had taken from my hand before the hiking trip.
The one I had assumed was lost during the fall.
I stared at it.
Then I remembered something.
Michael hadn’t pushed me immediately.
Before the fall, he had grabbed my hand.
He had twisted my fingers.
And he had pulled my ring off.
At the time, I thought it was part of the argument.
Now I understood.
He hadn’t wanted my ring on my body.
He had wanted it somewhere else.
Somewhere that could make a dead woman easier to identify.
The officer whispered:
“Your husband may have planted it.”
I nodded.
“He did.”
Then another thought struck me.
“If he planted the ring…”
The officer looked at me.
“What?”
I swallowed.