Murderer

Chapter 2: Murderer
AURORA

Bryan’s mother stormed into the room. Her eyes were red and swollen, her face streaked with tears. She looked straight at me, then lunged forward and grabbed my blouse.

“You killed my son, didn’t you?” Her voice cracked with rage as she shook me.

My mother tried to push her back, but Bryan’s mother shoved her aside. “You murderer! You did this to take his property. You and your mother planned it all!”

I stumbled, clutching my torn blouse against my chest. My voice failed me. My lips moved, but no words came. My chest felt heavy, my throat too tight to speak.

“Please, Gracie,” my mother said, pulling me toward her. “My daughter just found out through the television. She’s in shock.”

Gracie’s face twisted. “In shock? She knew already. Of course she knew. Because she killed him.”

Her accusation pierced me like a blade. I lifted my head and glared back at her. “I had no reason to kill him. He was my husband, the father of my child. Why would I destroy the only person who ever protected me?”

My mother raised her hands. “Give her time. This is not the right moment.”

But there was no right moment. The venom in Gracie’s voice told me she would accuse me today, tomorrow, and forever. I whispered, “Please, can you leave?”

Her eyes widened with fury. “Leave? You want me gone already? Not even forty-eight hours after my son’s death, and you’re driving me out of his house?”

“I never said that,” I muttered. “I only need space to think. You’re making it impossible.”

Her hand struck my face before I could react. A sharp crack echoed through the room. Pain burned across my cheek. I stumbled back onto the couch, clutching my ear. My body shook with fear.

It wasn’t the first time. She had hit me once before—at Jake’s second birthday party. She hadn’t wanted me greeting the guests. When I disobeyed, she lashed out with her purse. Bryan had excused it, blaming alcohol. But it hadn’t been the alcohol. It had been her hatred.

“You bastard,” she hissed. “You’ll rot in jail. Rosa! Bring Jake! I’m taking him home.”

I gasped. “What? Why should you take Jake?”

She stepped closer. I flinched, but my mother stepped between us. “Gracie. Enough.”

“You heard me,” Gracie snapped. “Jake is not safe with a murderer.”

“Mummy is not a murderer.” Jake’s small voice came from the hallway.

I rushed to him, shielding his ears with my hands. He didn’t need to hear this poison.

“Rosa! Why did you bring him out?” my mother barked.

“Madam Gracie told me to,” Rosa stammered.

“Do you work for her or for me? Take him back inside.”

Rosa obeyed, leading Jake away. I turned back to Bryan’s mother, my voice breaking. “Please. I just lost my husband. Don’t do this.”

But she wasn’t moved. She leaned close, her eyes cold. “After the funeral, I’ll make sure you rot in prison. Watch me.” Then she stormed out, leaving the door wide open.

Tears streamed down my face. My chest heaved with the weight of grief and fear. I sat in silence, shaking. Then the pressure broke. A scream tore from my throat, raw and desperate. My mother rushed to stop me from clawing at myself.

“She said I killed him!” I cried. “She called me a murderer in front of Jake. And she wants to take him away. Why? Why me?”

“I heard it all,” my mother whispered, rocking me like a child. “It’s cruel, but we’ll face it together.”

---

One Week Later

A week passed. Nothing improved. The Wolfe family paraded through my home with their accusations. The police came, too. Soon, the internet was flooded with my name.

The headline cut me to pieces:

“Wife of Deceased Tech Mogul Bryan Liam Named Prime Suspect by Family. Failed Marriage and Greed Behind Motive.”

I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My face was streaked with dried tears and mascara. My hair hung limp. I looked like a ghost. I had barely eaten, barely bathed.

They had turned me into a suspect in my own husband’s murder.

“Lord, please,” I whispered, gripping the sink. “Save me. I don’t know what to do.”

The doorbell rang. I dragged myself to the door and opened it. Amara stood there, her face full of sorrow.

“Rora…” she breathed, wrapping me in her arms.

I collapsed into her embrace. “Amara, I’m in so much pain. I’m terrified. I don’t want to go to jail.”

“You won’t,” she said firmly. “I spoke to my lawyer. We’ll get you the best defense.”

“This isn’t just scandal, Amara. I’m a suspect. The Wolfes have power. They can destroy me with one word.”

Her eyes searched mine. Then she asked quietly, “Rora… did you do it?”

The world seemed to stop. My chest hollowed out. Even she thought I was capable of it.

A bitter smile curved on my lips. Tears fell silently.

“No,” I whispered. “I didn’t kill my husband.”

I said it again, firmer. “I didn’t kill my husband.”

My voice grew stronger, louder. “I didn’t kill my husband!”

Amara held my hands as I trembled. “I know. I believe you,” she pleaded.

But I wasn’t sure anyone else ever would.