Chapter 7
We sat there for hours.
Diane never took her eyes off us.
She never blinked.
Never fidgeted.
Just sat there in her silk robe, gun in her lap, watching us like we were her favorite TV show.
Sarah was losing blood.
Slowly.
Her face was getting paler by the minute.
“She needs a doctor,” I said for the tenth time.
Diane waved a hand.
“She’ll live. It’s just a graze. Now, shut up. I’m thinking.”
The sun went down.
The house got dark.
Somewhere, a clock chimed midnight.
Diane stood up.
She walked over to Ethan, who was tied to the bedpost.
Leaned down.
Whispered in his ear.
“I loved your father, you know. More than anything. But he was going to leave me. For his secretary. Can you believe that? Twenty years of marriage. Three children—one of them stillborn—and he was going to throw it all away for a girl half his age who typed sixty words a minute.”
She smiled at the memory.
“He told me he was leaving two days before the ‘accident.’ Gave me until the end of the week to pack my things. So I loosened the brake line on his truck. Simple as that. The police never checked. Why would they? Poor grieving widow. Heartbroken. Everyone brought me casseroles. It was lovely, really.”
Ethan strained against the tape.
“You killed him.”
“Of course I did. I’d rather see him dead than with another woman. And you… you’re just like him, aren’t you? Same eyes. Same stupid, loyal heart. Same willingness to throw away a good thing for someone who doesn’t deserve you.”
She ran a finger down his cheek.
“That’s why I can’t let you have the money, baby. You’d give it all away. To her. To him. To every stray that wandered across your path. I earned that money. Twenty years of marriage. Twenty years of smiling and nodding and pretending I loved that boring, stupid man. It’s mine.”
She walked over to the dresser and pulled out a small metal box.
Opened it.
Inside were papers.
And a crumpled envelope.
She held it up.
“This is what you’re looking for, isn’t it? Your father’s suicide note. The one I told everyone didn’t exist.”
She tore it open.
Read it aloud.
“‘Diane, I can’t do this anymore. The lies. The cheating. The way you look at our son like he’s a possession instead of a child. I’m taking the truck and driving until I can’t drive anymore. Tell Ethan I loved him. Tell him he’s better than me. Better than us. Tell him to get as far away from you as he can.’”
She laughed.
“Pathetic, isn’t it? He couldn’t even kill himself properly. Had to write a note first. Tell everyone how mean I was.”
She walked to the bathroom connected to her bedroom.
Turned on the light.
I knew what was coming.
“No,” Ethan said. “Mom, don’t.”
She lit a match.
Held it to the corner of the paper.
It caught fire.
She dropped it into the toilet and flushed.
“Gone,” she said, turning back to us. “Just like your father. Just like your money. Just like your son. By this time tomorrow, it’ll all be mine. And you three… well. I’m sure I’ll think of something.”
She sat back down.
Closed her eyes.
The gun was still in her lap.
But her finger wasn’t on the trigger anymore.
She was tired.
Old.
And for the first time all night, she let her guard down.
I looked at Ethan.
His eyes were locked on hers.
But his hands…
The tape around his wrists was loose.
Diane had made me tie him hours ago.
And in her overconfidence, she hadn’t checked.
Ethan mouthed one word to me.
Now.
I screamed.
As loud as I could.
Diane’s eyes flew open.
She brought the gun up.
But Ethan was already moving.
He’d worked the tape free.
He launched himself at her.
The gun went off.
Bullet went through the ceiling.
Plaster rained down.
They crashed into the armchair, wrestling for the weapon.
I scrambled up and ran to Sarah.
Tore the tape off her hands.
“Call 911!” I yelled. “Now!”
Sarah grabbed her phone from her pocket—Diane had forgotten to take it—and dialed.
Ethan had Diane pinned to the floor now.
Her face was red with rage.
“YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE BASTARD! I GAVE YOU LIFE! I CAN TAKE IT AWAY!”
She bit his arm.
He grunted but didn’t let go.
I ran over and grabbed the gun.
Held it on her.
“STOP!” I screamed. “STOP OR I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL SHOOT YOU!”
She froze.
Ethan rolled off her, gasping for air.
Diane lay on the carpet, chest heaving, looking from me to the gun.
“You wouldn’t,” she said. “You’re not strong enough.”
I cocked the hammer back.
The sound was loud in the quiet room.
“Try me.”
Sirens in the distance.
Getting closer.
Sarah was still on the phone, giving them the address.
Diane’s face crumbled.
All the fight went out of her.
She started crying.
Real tears this time.
“I just didn’t want to be alone,” she sobbed. “I just didn’t want to be alone.”
The police burst through the bedroom door thirty seconds later.
It took four of them to cuff her.
She screamed the whole way out.
“YOU’LL ALL REGRET THIS! NOAH IS MINE! HE’LL ALWAYS BE MINE!”
The door slammed.
Silence.
Ethan was sitting on the bed, holding his bleeding arm.
Sarah was getting medical attention from a paramedic who’d arrived with the police.
An officer walked over to me, holding the gun I’d dropped.
“Ma’am?” he said. “We’re going to need a statement. All three of you. And… we found something in the safe downstairs. In Diane’s closet. You might want to see this.”
He led us down to the master bedroom closet.
Behind a wall of shoeboxes was a safe.
Open now.
Inside were stacks of papers.
Bank statements.
Withdrawal slips.
And underneath it all…
Another envelope.
Same handwriting as the one Diane had burned.
Ethan picked it up with shaking hands.
Opened it.
Read it.
Then he started laughing.
A bitter, broken sound.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Dad made two copies,” he said. “One for her to find. One for me. He knew she’d destroy the first one. He hid this in the safe the day before he died. Told his lawyer to give me the combination when I turned thirty-five.”
He handed me the note.
It was longer than the one Diane had read.
At the bottom, in his father’s scrawled handwriting:
P.S. — If you’re reading this, Diane killed me. The brake line on the truck. I loosened it myself to make it look like she’d done a bad job. The mechanic will find my tool marks. I want her to spend the rest of her life in prison for it. And whatever you do, son… don’t ever let her make you feel small. You’re better than her. You’re better than both of us.
May you like
Ethan looked at me.
“Dad set her up,” he said. “Thirty years ago. He knew exactly what she’d do. And he waited. From beyond the grave… he waited.”
