She sat beside me.
“What happened?”
I looked at her.
“I don’t know yet.”
Then I told her everything.
The fever.
The wound.
The hospital.
The police.
The syringe.
The notebook.
By the time I finished, she was pale.
“Jessi.”
“What?”
“Did you tell them about the locked room?”
I froze.
“What locked room?”
“The room in your basement.”
I stared at her.
“We don’t have a locked room.”
“Your father told me Luca asked him about security systems.”
My stomach tightened.
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
Three months.
Long before the fever.
Long before the wound.
Long before I suspected anything.
My mother reached into her purse.
“I found this in your mailbox.”
She handed me an envelope.
My name was written on the front.
I recognized the handwriting.
Luca.
I stared at it.
“Don’t open it.”
My mother looked frightened.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Then the door opened.
Detective Collins walked in.
Her eyes immediately went to the envelope.
“Where did you get that?”
“My mother brought it.”
“Don’t touch it.”
The room went silent.
Detective Collins put on gloves.
She took the envelope.
“Did you open it?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She placed it into an evidence bag.
Then she looked at me.
“Jessi, where exactly was this found?”
“My mailbox.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
She looked at Detective Price.
“That’s impossible.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Because your mailbox was searched by officers at six this morning.”
My heart began pounding.
“Then who put it there?”
Nobody answered.
Detective Collins opened a second folder.
“We have surveillance footage.”
She showed me a still image.
A man in a baseball cap stood outside my house.
His face was hidden.
But I recognized the jacket.
Luca’s jacket.
My blood ran cold.
“That’s him.”
Detective Collins nodded.
“We think so.”
“Then arrest him.”
“We’re trying.”
She paused.
“But we have a bigger problem.”
“What?”
“The man in the video isn’t Luca.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“We confirmed Luca was somewhere else at that exact time.”
My mother grabbed my hand.
“Then who was at the house?”
Detective Collins looked at me.
“We don’t know.”
She opened the envelope carefully.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
There was only one sentence.
“YOU WERE NEVER SUPPOSED TO WAKE UP.”
The police moved me to a secure floor that evening.
I had never imagined that a hospital could feel like a fortress.
There were guards near the elevators.
Visitors were screened.
My mother’s name was added to a list.
Even my phone calls were monitored for anything suspicious.
But despite all of that security, I couldn’t stop thinking about the sentence in Luca’s letter.
You were never supposed to wake up.
I read it again and again.
Who had written it?
Luca?
Someone working with him?
Someone trying to frighten me?
The next morning, Detective Collins arrived with a photograph.
She placed it face down on the table.
“We found something.”
“Another syringe?”
“No.”
She turned the photograph over.
A woman stood beside Luca outside a restaurant.
She was blonde, elegant, and unfamiliar.
“Who is she?”
“We don’t know yet.”
I stared at the photograph.
“Then why show me?”
“Because your husband met her twelve times over the last six months.”
My stomach tightened.
“Did he have an affair?”
Detective Collins didn’t answer.
That was answer enough.
“What’s her name?”
“Rachel Monroe.”
I searched my memory.
Nothing.
“Have I ever met her?”
“Not officially.”
“What does that mean?”
“She attended two events with Luca where you were also present.”
I frowned.
“I don’t remember her.”
“She never approached you.”
I stared at the photograph.
“Who is she?”
“We’re checking.”
Then Detective Collins gave me another photograph.
This one showed Rachel entering a medical supply company.
I looked at it.
“She works in medicine?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does she do?”
“She owns a private consulting firm.”
“What kind of consulting?”
“Clinical research.”
My heart sank.
“That’s where Luca used to work.”
“Yes.”
The pieces were beginning to connect.
But there was still something missing.
“Why would Luca want me dead?”
Detective Collins looked at me.
“We found a document in your house.”
“What document?”
“A life insurance policy.”
My blood went cold.
“I have life insurance.”
“How much?”
I told her.
She shook her head.
“Not the policy we’re talking about.”
I stared at her.
“There was another one.”
“How much?”
“Two million dollars.”
My mouth went dry.
“When was it taken out?”
“Eight months ago.”
Eight months.
I had been married to Luca for years.
I didn’t know he had bought a two-million-dollar policy on me.
“Who was the beneficiary?”
She looked at me.
“Luca.”
I closed my eyes.
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
Then I remembered something.
The insurance paperwork.
Luca had asked me to sign something months ago.
He said it was refinancing documents.
I had signed it without reading carefully.
My hands began trembling.
“He tricked me.”
“We believe so.”
“Can you prove it?”
“We’re working on it.”
My mother stood.
“That man belongs in prison.”
Detective Collins nodded.
“If the evidence confirms what we’re seeing, he will have serious problems.”
That afternoon, Dr. Hale came in.
He told me the infection was responding to treatment.
For the first time, he smiled.
“You’re going to recover.”
I cried.
Not because I was sad.
Because someone had finally said the word recover.
I was going to survive.
But then Dr. Hale’s expression became serious.
“We need to discuss your ankle.”
I nodded.
“The tissue damage is significant.”
“Will I walk?”
“Yes.”
I exhaled.
“But you’ll need physical therapy.”
“I can handle that.”
“I believe you can.”
He smiled.
“You’ve already handled the hardest part.”
That night, I received a phone call.
The number was blocked.
I answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a woman’s voice whispered,
“You don’t know what Luca promised them.”
My heart stopped.
“Who is this?”
“He said you wouldn’t survive.”
“Who are you?”
The woman hung up.
I immediately called Detective Collins.
She arrived within minutes.
We traced the call.
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