DEAR EX-HUSBAND, YOU CAN NEVER HAVE ME BACK
A neighbor, an older woman with sharp eyes, shuffled over, her voice low, her heart guarded with suspicion.
“You looking for Mr. Holmes?” she asked, her hands folding. My throat tightened, my pulse racing as I nodded, my eyes burning with hope.
“He died about a year ago,” she said, her voice soft, her eyes narrowing with unease. “Found in his garage, no clear cause—real mysterious. Cops didn’t dig too deep.”
My heart sank, my throat raw with shock, my eyes stinging as Richards face paled, his pulse quickening—I could see it in his clenched hands.
Bab Populer