Chapter 5
Elena got stronger every day.
Her voice came back slow, hoarse at first, like she’d been screaming for hours. The doctors said it would fully heal in a few months, no permanent damage.
She told me everything, bit by bit, when the nurses weren’t in the room.
She’d gotten the bank statements in the mail by mistake, addressed to Ethan but sent to our old apartment. She’d opened them, confused, and found all the transfers. Hundreds of thousands of dollars, gone.
She’d driven to Mom’s house to confront them, three days before I came home. Ethan had been there, waiting.
They’d argued. Ethan had admitted to stealing, said I was too stupid to notice, that the money was as much his as it was mine. When Elena threatened to call me, to call the police, he’d snapped.
He’d pushed her against the wall, wrapped his hands around her throat, and squeezed until she blacked out.
She’d woken up once, briefly, in the coffin. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, her body too weak from lack of oxygen. She’d heard Mom and Ethan talking, rushing to get the funeral arranged before I got home, saying they’d tell me she’d died in childbirth, that it was quick and painless.
She’d tried to scream, to move, to do anything, but her body wouldn’t listen. Then she’d heard my voice. Felt my hand on her wrist. She’d mustered every ounce of strength she had left, pushed our son against the coffin lid as hard as she could, praying I’d feel it.
“I knew you’d come,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, holding my hand tight. “I knew you’d find us.”
I cried, pressing my face into her palm. “I should have been here. I should never have left.”
She shook her head, her eyes fierce. “No. You came home. You saved us. That’s all that matters.”
Liam was released from the NICU the next day. The nurse brought him to Elena’s room, all swaddled up, his eyes wide open.
Elena held him for the first time, her arms shaking, tears streaming down her face. He grabbed her finger with his tiny hand, cooed, and snuggled into her chest like he knew exactly who she was.
“Hey, baby boy,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I’m your mama. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to hold you sooner. I’m never letting you go again.”
I sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping my arms around both of them, and felt a peace I hadn’t felt in years. For the first time since I’d walked into that living room and seen Elena in that coffin, I didn’t feel like I was drowning.
The police came by that afternoon to take Elena’s formal statement. She told them everything, her voice steady, no tears. She identified Ethan as her attacker, said Mom had been there, had helped cover it up, had paid the doctor to sign the fake death certificate.
By the end of the week, Mom was arrested too. Charged with accessory after the fact to attempted murder, conspiracy to commit fraud, filing a false death certificate.
Her lawyer called me the next day, begging for a meeting. Said Mom wanted to make a deal.
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I hesitated. Part of me wanted to let her rot in prison for the rest of her life, for what she’d done to Elena, to Liam, to me. But another part of me remembered the woman who’d raised me alone after Dad died, who’d worked two jobs to put me through college, who’d held me when I’d broken my leg at 10 and told me everything would be okay.
I told the lawyer I’d meet her.
