Chapter 1: The Wife They Tried to Bury
“WHY IS MY WIFE’S PICTURE ON THAT COFFIN?””
My suitcase crashed onto the marble floor, its wheels spinning uselessly as I stared at the nightmare unfolding inside my mansion.
Fifty mourners stood beneath the crystal chandeliers. Black flowers covered the entrance to the living room. Candles flickered along the walls, filling the air with the heavy scent of lilies and melted wax.
And in the center of it all stood a polished wooden coffin.
Above it was a photograph of my wife, Grace.
She was smiling in the picture, her long brown hair falling over her shoulders, one hand resting against the small belly that had begun to show beneath her dresses.
Six days earlier, that same hand had held mine while she whispered the words that had changed my life.
We're having a baby.
Now someone had placed her photograph above a coffin.
I couldn't breathe.
My mother, Margaret, hurried toward me in a black silk dress. Her pearl necklace trembled against her chest as she reached for my shoulders.
“Marcus, son,” she said, forcing tears into her voice.
“I'm so sorry.””
I shook her hands away.
“Where is Grace?””
Her lips quivered.
“Marcus, please. You need to sit down.””
“WHERE IS MY WIFE?””
Several guests turned their faces away.
My younger brother, Daniel, stood near the fireplace with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He wore an expensive black suit, but his tie was crooked, and a fresh scratch ran along his jaw.
He didn't look like a man mourning his sister-in-law.
He looked like a man waiting for something to end.
Mother lowered her eyes.
“There was an accident,” she whispered.
“A terrible car accident. The police said she lost control of the vehicle on the highway.””
“No.””
“She didn't survive.””
The words struck harder than any physical blow.
“No,” I repeated, stumbling backward.
“That's impossible. I spoke to her before my flight. She said she'd be waiting for me.””
Mother reached for my arm.
“Marcus—”
“Who identified the body?””
Her fingers tightened.
“The funeral director handled everything.””
“I asked who identified her!””
Mother glanced toward Daniel.
It was brief. Barely a second.
But I saw it.
Daniel swallowed his whiskey.
“Brother, don't make this harder than it already is,” he said.
“Grace is gone. You need to accept that.””
I stared at him.
“Did you see her body?””
His glass stopped halfway to his mouth.
“What?””
“Did you see my wife's body?””
Daniel placed the glass on the mantelpiece.
“Why would you ask me that?””
“Because I'm asking you a simple question.””
He looked at Mother before answering.
“The accident was horrific. You don't want those images in your head.””
I took a step toward him.
“That's not an answer.””
Mother stepped between us.
“Enough! Your brother has been helping me arrange everything while you've been away. He's exhausted, just like the rest of us.””
“Helping you arrange what?”” I demanded.
“My wife's funeral? Without calling me? Without waiting for me to come home?””
Her face hardened beneath the tears.
“We couldn't leave her lying in a morgue indefinitely.””
“You could have called me!””
“We did what we thought was best.””
I looked around the room.
Fifty people. Fifty witnesses to my wife's supposed death.
Not one of them could look me in the eyes.
Then my gaze returned to the coffin.
Six days ago, Grace had stood in our bedroom wearing my oversized sweatshirt. She'd taken my hand and placed it against her stomach.
“Feel anything?”” she'd asked, grinning.
“Your stomach?””
“Marcus!””
I had laughed and kissed her.
“I'm sorry. What am I supposed to feel?””
“Our baby. Someday, you'll feel those tiny kicks.””
I remembered the way her expression changed when I promised to return before her next prenatal appointment.
“You won't have to do this alone,” I'd told her.
“I'll be there for every appointment. Every ultrasound. Every sleepless night.””
She had pressed her forehead against mine.
“Promise?””
“Promise.””
I had left for a five-day business trip the following morning.
I returned one day later than planned because my connecting flight had been canceled.
One day.
And now she was supposedly dead.
My knees gave way.
I dropped beside the coffin, gripping its polished edge.
“Grace,” I whispered.
“Baby, please.””
My voice broke.
“I came home. I'm here now.””
The wood felt cold beneath my fingers.
“I didn't get to say goodbye. You can't do this to me. We have a baby coming. You promised we'd raise that child together.””
Behind me, someone began to sob.
I pressed my cheek against the coffin.
“Please, sweetheart. Just give me one more minute.””
Then I heard it.
Tick.
I lifted my head.
Tick. Tick.
The sound was faint, almost swallowed by the quiet murmur of the mourners.
I held my breath.
There it was again.
Tick.
I turned toward the guests.
“Did you hear that?””
Nobody answered.
Mother approached, smoothing the front of her dress.
“Marcus, you're in shock.””
“There's a noise.””
“It's the coffin settling,” Daniel said quickly.
I stared at him.
“The coffin settling?””
“Wood makes noises. You know that.””
I pressed my palm against the lid.
Tick.
Tick.
Three sharp knocks followed.
Not from the walls.
Not from the floor.
From inside the coffin.
My entire body went rigid.
Then came another sound.
A muffled, desperate scrape.
I stood so quickly that my knee struck the side of the coffin.
“OPEN IT!””
Mother seized my arm.
“Marcus, no!””
“OPEN IT!””
“The funeral director has already sealed it!””
“Then unseal it!””
She dug her fingernails into my sleeve.
“Son, listen to me. You don't want to see her like this.””
I stared at the woman who had raised me.
“That's my wife. You don't get to decide what I can bear.””
I tore my arm free.
A brass candleholder stood on a nearby table. I grabbed it with both hands.
Mother screamed.
“Marcus, STOP!””
Daniel lunged forward.
“Put that down! You're acting like a madman!””
I swung.
CRACK!
The candleholder smashed against the coffin lid, sending splinters across the white flowers.
The mourners scattered.
A woman shrieked. Someone knocked over a chair.
Mother grabbed the back of my jacket.
“YOU'LL DESTROY EVERYTHING!””
I turned toward her.
“Everything?””
Her mouth snapped shut.
For the first time since I'd arrived, the tears disappeared from her face.
She looked terrified.
Not heartbroken.
Terrified.
I swung again.
The wood split with a violent crack.
Through the widening gap, I saw something pale move.
Two feet.
Bare feet.
Bound together with thick rope.
My blood turned to ice.
“Grace?””
A muffled cry answered me.
I dropped the candleholder and tore at the broken lid with my bare hands.
“HELP ME!””
Daniel backed toward the fireplace.
Mother stood frozen, her hands pressed against her mouth.
I ripped away another section of wood.
And there she was.
My wife lay inside the coffin, wearing the white dress she'd chosen for our baby's first family photograph.
Her wrists were tied behind her back. Rope circled her ankles. A strip of cloth covered her mouth, and her face was unnaturally pale.
But her chest was moving.
Her stomach rose and fell.
She was alive.
“Oh, God. Grace!””
I reached inside and lifted her carefully, terrified that even touching her might hurt the baby.
Her eyes fluttered open.
She made a weak, strangled sound.
I pulled the cloth from her mouth.
She gasped, coughing violently against my chest.
“Marcus…”
“I'm here. I'm here, sweetheart.””
Her fingers clawed at my shirt.
“Don't let them take our baby!””
I looked up.
Mother had begun backing toward the hallway.
Daniel was already moving toward the front door.
I held Grace against me and shouted at the guests.
“CALL AN AMBULANCE! NOW!””
A man fumbled for his phone.
I looked at my mother.
“You told me she was dead.””
“Marcus, please—”
“YOU TOLD ME MY WIFE WAS DEAD!””
She stumbled into a chair.
“I can explain!””
I tightened my arms around Grace as she shivered against me.
“You were going to bury her alive.””
Mother's lips parted, but no words emerged.
Grace lifted her head with enormous effort.
“No,” she whispered.
“Marcus…”
I leaned closer.
“What's wrong?””
She stared over my shoulder at the woman who had pretended to mourn her.
“Your mother wasn't working alone.””
I turned.
Daniel had reached the doorway.
Two of the guests blocked his path.
He slowly raised his hands, but his eyes never left Grace.
She began to cry.
“They wanted me to sign away our baby's inheritance.””
I felt the floor tilt beneath me.
“What inheritance?””
Grace's trembling hand closed around mine.
“Your grandfather's trust. The one that transfers control of the family company to your first child.””
I looked at Mother.
She said nothing.
I looked at Daniel.
His jaw tightened.
“You knew Grace was pregnant before I did,” I said.
Daniel's silence answered me.
I rose slowly, keeping one arm around my wife.
“You were going to kill her for money?””
Daniel shook his head.
“Marcus, you don't understand.””
“Then explain it!””
His gaze flicked toward Mother.
She finally spoke.
“The trust isn't the reason we needed her gone.””
Grace suddenly went still.
Her fingers slipped beneath the torn fabric of her dress, searching for something she'd hidden there.
She pulled out a tiny folded photograph.
“Marcus,” she whispered, “I found this in your father's safe.””
I unfolded it with shaking hands.
The photograph showed my father standing beside Mother twenty-eight years earlier, holding two newborn boys.
I recognized myself immediately.
The other baby had the same dark hair, the same small chin.
But he wasn't Daniel.
I looked at the photograph, then at my brother.
“Who is the other child?””
Mother lunged toward me.
“GIVE ME THAT!””
I stepped back.
“Mom. Who is that baby?””
Her face crumpled.
Grace gripped my wrist.
“Marcus, your brother wasn't trying to steal your baby's inheritance.””
May you like
She looked at Daniel, and he closed his eyes.
“He was trying to stop me from discovering who you really are.””
