Mark’s face drained of color as he struggled to maintain composure. “It must be a coincidence. Alice is probably somewhere laughing at us right now.”
“Ma’am, are you in league with my wife? Playing games with the police is a serious offense.”
Suddenly, his phone rang. He answered with trembling hands. “Lab results?”
The forensic tech’s voice was urgent. “Detective, we have the DNA results for the victim.‘
The senior detective, eyes glistening, touched Mark’s shoulder. “Head back to the station. We’ll handle things here.”
But Mark seemed not to hear, his gloved hand touching the dried blood on the floor. “How much pain was she in?”
ww
Some of the younger officers had started crying quietly.
Mark stumbled back to his car, looking lost.
Watching his dazed expression, my heart twisted painfully.
From our wedding day until my death, he’d never once called me “love” or “dear” – terms he used.freely with Emma.
At the station, the lab tech handed him the report with pitying eyes.
“I’m sorry, Detective.”
Mark’s pupils constricted as he read the report, checking the name repeatedly.
After a long moment, he choked out, “How is this possible?”
The tech’s face softened with sympathy. “The body’s in the morgue, Detective. DNA doesn’t lie.”
Mark suddenly bolted from his chair, running toward the morgue.
The morgue doors burst open. The cold air hit him like a wall.
With trembling hands, he pulled back the sheet.
Suddenly, Mark remembered something. He frantically pulled out the rings taken from the body.
Looking at the tiny engraving inside – “LMM” – his tears fell onto the clear evidence bag.
The other detectives had assumed it was the victim’s initials.
But in truth, it was my declaration of love for him – “Love Mark Martin“.
He finally believed that there, on the examination table, lay his wife. His Alice.
1/2
26 BONUS
And there, clearly visible during the autopsy, was the small, developing life in my womb.
Two months.
Just as I had told him that day in our kitchen.
Just as he had dismissed as another lle.
