I looked down at my hands.
Luca had held my ankle.
Luca had changed my bandages.
Luca had told me I was fine.
Luca had watched me burn with fever.
And every night, he had said the same thing.
Wait until tomorrow.
A knock sounded at the door.
Detective Collins returned.
But this time she wasn’t alone.
A uniformed officer stood behind her.
She walked toward my bed.
“Jessi, we found something.”
“What?”
She placed a small evidence bag on the table.
Inside was a syringe.
My entire body went cold.
“Where did you find it?”
“In your husband’s home.”
My eyes locked onto it.
“I’ve seen that.”
Detective Collins looked up.
“When?”
“The first night I got sick.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She took a photograph from her folder.
It showed my bedroom.
My nightstand.
A small metal wastebasket.
And inside it, partially covered by tissues, was the same type of syringe.
I stared at the photograph.
Then at Detective Collins.
“Was there anything else?”
She hesitated.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“A notebook.”
She pulled out another photograph.
The notebook was open on a desk.
There were dates written down.
Temperatures.
Medication names.
Dosages.
And beside each date was a single word.
DAY ONE.
DAY TWO.
DAY THREE.
My heart stopped.
“That’s Luca’s handwriting.”
Detective Collins nodded.
“We know.”
I looked at the final page.
DAY SEVEN.
Underneath it was a sentence.
“WAIT FOR HER TO STOP FIGHTING.”
My breathing became shallow.
I couldn’t speak.
Detective Collins reached across the bed.
“Jessi, there’s something else you need to know.”
I looked at her.
“We believe your husband wasn’t acting alone.”
For the next hour, I couldn’t stop staring at the photograph of Luca’s notebook.
The words seemed burned into my mind.
WAIT FOR HER TO STOP FIGHTING.
It wasn’t a medical note.
It wasn’t a treatment plan.
It was a countdown.
Detective Collins sat beside me while I tried to process what I was seeing.
“Who else?” I finally asked.
“We don’t know.”
“Then why did you say he wasn’t alone?”
“Because the notebook isn’t the only thing we found.”
She opened another folder.
“There were bank transfers.”
I frowned.
“What do bank transfers have to do with my infection?”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine.”
She slid a photograph across the table.
It showed a series of transactions from Luca’s account.
Large amounts.
Five thousand dollars.
Ten thousand.
Twenty-five thousand.
The recipients were different.
But the descriptions were almost identical.
Consulting.
Medical supplies.
Research.
I stared at them.
“Luca doesn’t have that kind of money.”
Detective Collins looked at me.
“Apparently, he does.”
I felt something cold settle in my stomach.
“Where did it come from?”
“We’re investigating.”
I thought about our marriage.
The arguments about money.
The months when Luca claimed his streaming business wasn’t doing well.
The times he told me we needed to cut expenses.
The vacation he said we couldn’t afford.
The credit card he insisted I stop using.
All while money was apparently moving through accounts I didn’t know existed.
“Did he steal from me?”
“We don’t know.”
She paused.
“But there are transfers from a joint account.”
My eyes widened.
“How much?”
“Approximately eighty-seven thousand dollars over eleven months.”
I stared at her.
Eighty-seven thousand.
Money we had saved together.
Money I thought was sitting in our emergency fund.
Money I had believed would eventually help us buy a house.
Luca hadn’t been broke.
He had been hiding money.
“Why?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Then find out.”
My voice sounded different.
Stronger.
Detective Collins noticed.
“That’s exactly what we’re doing.”
She stood.
Before leaving, she looked back.
“There’s one more thing.”
“What?”
“We haven’t arrested him.”
I swallowed.
“Why not?”
“Because we want the evidence to be airtight.”
I nodded.
“Good.”
She gave me a strange look.
“What?”
“I expected you to ask us to arrest him immediately.”
“I want him arrested.”
“Then why aren’t you angry?”
I looked down at my bandaged ankle.
“I am.”
I touched the edge of the blanket.
“I’m just too tired to scream.”
After she left, I closed my eyes.
For the first time in seven days, I allowed myself to stop defending Luca.
I remembered every moment.
Every dismissive smile.
Every time he told me to sleep.
Every time he changed the dressing.
Every time I asked whether we should see a doctor.
And suddenly, details I had ignored began connecting themselves.
The first night.
The sting.
The silver object.
The smell.
I remembered it now.
Something sharp and chemical.
Not antiseptic.
Something sweet.
I opened my eyes.
“Excuse me.”
The nurse came in.
“Yes?”
“I need to tell Detective Collins something.”
She called her.
Twenty minutes later, Detective Collins returned.
“What did you remember?”
“The smell.”
She sat down.
“What did it smell like?”
“Sweet.”
“Anything else?”
“Almost like almonds.”
She immediately wrote it down.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She looked toward Detective Price.
He made a phone call.
I watched them.
“What does that mean?”
“We’ll have the lab check for specific compounds.”
I nodded.
Then something occurred to me.
“Luca used to work at a laboratory.”
Detective Collins stopped writing.
“What laboratory?”
“A private research company.”
“What did he do?”
“Data management.”
“Name?”
I told her.
Her expression changed.
“Why?”
“Because I think that’s where he learned things he wasn’t supposed to know.”
The detectives exchanged a glance.
Then Detective Collins stood.
“We’ll be back.”
That afternoon, my mother arrived.
I hadn’t called her.
The hospital must have reached her emergency contact.
She walked through the door carrying a small overnight bag and immediately burst into tears when she saw me.
“Oh, honey.”
She hugged me carefully.
I cried into her shoulder.
For the first time since I got sick, I felt safe.
“I should have listened to you,” I whispered.
She pulled back.
“What?”
“You told me something was wrong.”
She shook her head.
“I told you I didn’t like him.”
“I know.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
I smiled weakly.
“No.”
Popular Posts
→- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
Recently Viewed
Stories you read recently will appear here.
