Echo
At 11:00 AM, my husband, Silas Vexille, slowly drowned in our indoor thermal pool.
At the time, I was having my usual morning tea with the other mafia wives in the estate's back garden.
The pool room was directly above the garden, barely a dozen feet away.
Originally, if I had gone back to the main house at 11:00 as usual, I would have had plenty of time to save him.
But as fate would have it, Victoria Harrison insisted on inviting us over to her nearby home to see her new pink diamond.
At 11:20 AM, my daughter April and I pushed open the doors to the pool room.
By then, Silas was already gone.
At the lavish funeral, I was devastated, fainting several times.
The mourners murmured in sympathy.
"Don Vexille and his wife always had such a beautiful marriage..."
"Yeah, what is she going to do now that the Don is dead?"
Silas's mother, Martha—a tough woman who ran a Texas farm alone after her divorce—flew in overnight.
Under the watchful eyes of everyone present, she walked straight up to me.
Her expression was stone-cold, and she spat out every word:
"You are the one who murdered my son."