I Have The Autopsy Report

Jose waited until Camille's breathing evened out before he picked up the phone. The screen glowed too bright in the dark suite. Another photo. This one hit harder.

Elias at seventeen, gaunt but smiling, sitting on the kitchen counter in their old foster house. Rainer's arm slung around his shoulders. Jose stood in the background, laughing at something off-camera. The message underneath was simple.

*You chose her over this. Tell me it was worth it.*

His thumb hovered. He typed *Fuck you* then deleted it. Typed *Leave us alone* and deleted that too. In the end he just stared until the screen went black.

Camille shifted behind him. "Come back to bed."

"I'm fine," he lied.

"You're not." She didn't sound angry. She sounded tired in that way that always made him feel like the difficult one. She sat up, sheets pooling around her waist, and reached for him. Her fingers found the old scar on his ribs. She traced it slowly, like she owned it.

"Whatever he's sending you," she said quietly, "it's poison. You know that."

Jose turned to look at her. In the low light she looked softer. Almost fragile. The same woman who had sat with him through three weeks of barely sleeping after they got the call about Elias. The one who had thrown out every bottle in the apartment when he started drinking too much. The one who had made him believe he could build a life that didn't end in rehab or a casket.

He hated how much he still needed that version of her to be real.

"I keep seeing his face," Jose admitted. The words scraped coming out. "At the back of the hall. Like he actually believed what he was saying."

Camille's hand stilled on his skin. "Rainer believes whatever lets him keep you tangled up. Even when you were kids, he'd rather pull you down than watch you leave him behind."

She was right about some of it. That was the thing about Camille. She was always right about just enough.

He set the phone face-down and let her pull him back under the covers. Her mouth found his neck, slow and sure. Not demanding this time. Just steady. Like she was trying to settle him back into his own body. Jose closed his eyes and tried to sink into it. Her scent. Her warmth. The way she always knew exactly how to touch him so the noise went quiet.

But the photo stayed behind his eyelids. Elias smiling like the world hadn't already started eating him alive.

Later, while Camille showered, Jose stepped onto the balcony. The resort stretched below him, all perfect lights and the sound of water that didn't care about anything. He opened the messages again.

Rainer had sent another one.

*I have the autopsy report. The real one. Meet me when you get back or I'll bring it to her office myself.*

Jose typed fast before he could stop himself.

*Stop. Just stop.*

Three dots appeared immediately. Like Rainer had been waiting.

*No. Not this time. You don't get to bury him and fuck her and pretend we're all okay.*

Jose gripped the railing until his knuckles ached. Memories hit without permission. Elias at fourteen, high for the first time, crying in Jose's lap while Rainer paced the room swearing he'd kill whoever gave it to him. Jose promising both of them he'd fix it. He'd get them out. He'd make them something that counted as a family.

He had broken every single one of those promises.

The bathroom door opened. Camille stepped out in a robe, hair damp. She saw him on the balcony and smiled, but her eyes dropped to the phone in his hand before they came back up to his face.

"Work?" she asked lightly.

"Yeah," he said. The lie sat heavy on his tongue.

She crossed to him and leaned against his side, looking out at the water. "We deserve this, you know. After everything we went through to get here."

Jose wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She felt small against him. Soft. Almost breakable. But he knew better. Camille didn't break. She adapted. She removed obstacles.

That thought landed cold in his chest and sat there.

"I know," he murmured into her hair.

They ordered room service and ate on the balcony. Camille talked about the new apartment, about Italy next year, about maybe trying for a baby soon. Normal things. Good things. Every word felt like pressure against a bruise he didn't want to name.

His phone stayed silent the rest of the night. The silence felt worse than anything Rainer could have sent. Like he was letting Jose stew in it. Letting him remember on his own.

By two in the morning Jose couldn't sleep. He slipped into the bathroom and locked the door. Opened the messages. Stared at the photo of the three of them for a long time.

Then he did something stupid.

He saved it. Not to the cloud. Not to his main album. He created a hidden folder and put it there like some guilty teenager hiding something he couldn't name yet. Then he deleted the conversation thread. Emptied everything.

When he crawled back into bed Camille turned toward him in her sleep and pressed her face into his chest. Her hand slid down his stomach, possessive even unconscious.

Jose stared at the ceiling and felt the weight of her like both anchor and chain.

He was already calculating how soon he could get back to the city. How soon he could find Rainer without her knowing. How long he could keep pretending the grave was still full.

Because the worst part wasn't the possibility that Rainer was telling the truth.

The worst part was how much Jose wanted him to be lying.

And how terrified he was that he already knew he wasn't.