The bond between us had broken long ago, every time he chose to believe Emma’s lies over my truth.
Emma had shown her hatred from the day I married Mark.
She turned our friends against me.
Spilled drinks and “accidental” pushes were just the beginning of her torments.
Yet she always played the victim to Mark: “I try so hard to be friends with Alice, but she’s so cold to me. Is it because of your past feelings for me?”
Mark would sigh and lecture me: “Alice, Emma’s been nothing but kind. You need to try harder.”
“She’s been part of my life for so long. You two need to get along.”
But they conveniently forgot how Emma had systematically destroyed my life, piece by piece.
As if marrying Mark meant I should accept any cruelty from his precious first love.
Sarah had seen through Emma’s act.
She’d tried to help me prove Emma’s lies.
But Emma was too clever, too manipulative.
Now Emma sat in her hospital room, probably gloating over her victory.
She smiled brightly whenever she saw Mark, playing the brave patient.
Facing the nurses, she’d beam with pride: “Isn’t Mark wonderful? Dropping everything to be with me. That’s true love.”
Looking at her triumphant expression, I felt sick
Her happiness was built on my suffering, my death.
Why did Emma get to push me into my grave while enjoying Mark’s devotion and care?
+25 BONUS
In the hospital corridor, nurses whispered among themselves, their voices carrying through the sterlle air.
“Did you hear about Detective Martin’s ex–wife? The one they found in the abandoned building?”
“I heard she was killed by some man she was having an affair with. Can you imagine?”
“Detective Martin must be devastated. Thank goodness he has Emma to comfort him.”
“Such a sweet woman, still getting her kidney treatments despite all this drama.”
Emma sat in her hospital bed, basking in the sympathy. Her smile grew brighter with each concerned glance, each pitying word.
She adjusted her IV line with practiced care, playing the perfect patient.
She was reveling in her victory, celebrating my death while pretending to mourn it.
Then several police officers suddenly appeared in the corridor, their footsteps echoing as they walked toward Emma’s room. Her perfect smile froze on her face.
The head nurse tried to stop them. “This is a patient care area-
“Step aside,” one officer ordered, showing his badge. “We have a warrant.”
“There must be some mistake,” Emma protested her voice rising with practiced panic. “I’m a patient waiting for a kidney transplant! Mark! Mark, tell them!”
Sarah stood by the door, her arms crossed. A cold laugh escaped her lips. “A fake transplant won’t save you now, Emma. We have proof of everything.”
Just as Emma was basking in everyone’s sympathy, playing the grieving friend, her mask was finally ripped away.
Emma’s breath came in sharp gasps, her perfectly maintained composure cracking. Her eyes darted wildly around the room.
“What proof? You have nothing! Mark, help me! They’ve gone crazy!” Her manicured hands clutched at the hospital sheets.
Mark stepped forward from behind the officers. His face was grey with fury and grief.
“James Wilson gave us a recording device,” he said, his voice shaking. “We’ve heard everything you said, Emma. Everything.”
Every cruel word was there, preserved in digital clarity. Emma ordering my death. Emma laughing about her fake kidney disease. Emma mocking Mark’s blind devotion.
James, the criminal who had killed me, smirked from between two officers, He pointed to
1/4
126 BONUS
Emma’s designer handbag, discarded in the corner.
