Chapter 4 - The Crime Scene at Home
While Grace was moved to a secure private floor under police guard, I returned to our house accompanied by Detective Miller, a seasoned lead investigator assigned to the case. Walking back into my home felt like entering a scene from a nightmare.
The living room, which I had spent months painting and preparing for our newborn, was utterly trashed. Empty takeout boxes from expensive restaurants littered the coffee table. Empty wine bottles sat on the counter.
“They were living it up while your wife was suffering,” Detective Miller noted dryly, taking photos of the scene.
We walked down the hallway toward our master bedroom. The door handle was scratched—deep gouges in the wood where someone had tried to force it open from the inside. Outside the door sat a heavy oak chair, positioned specifically to wedge the door shut from the hallway.
My blood ran cold. They barricaded her inside.
When Detective Miller opened the door, the stench of sweat, unwashed linens, and stale fever filled the room. On the floor beside the nightstand was Grace’s cell phone, its screen shattered into a spiderweb of cracks.
“Looks like someone stomped on it,” Miller said, bagging the phone as evidence.
I walked over to Grace’s side of the bed. Beneath the mattress, tucked away as if hastily hidden, I found a manila envelope. I pulled it out.
Inside were legal documents—a quitclaim deed for our family house and a power-of-attorney form, both drafted by a shady local notary. They had already forged Grace’s signature on the bottom line, waiting only for my signature to strip us of everything we owned.
Beside the papers was a small, leather-bound notebook belonging to my mother. I opened it. Josephine’s neat, fluid handwriting filled the pages.
‘Day 1: Grace is crying for food. Left her a cup of tap water. She needs to break.’ ‘Day 2: Sam won’t stop screaming. Told Melanie to keep the TV loud. Leo called—told him everything is fine. Grace tried to escape through the window. Tied her arms.’ ‘Day 3: Almost done. Once Leo signs the down payment papers, we can file for full custody of the baby due to her "mental instability."’
I dropped the notebook onto the bed, nauseated. This wasn't just a sudden fit of spite. This was a calculated, cold-blooded conspiracy to strip my wife of her child, steal our savings, and break her mind.
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“Detective,” I said, my voice shaking with cold rage as I handed him the notebook. “Look at this.”
Detective Miller read through the pages, his jaw clenching tightly. He looked up at me, his eyes dark. “Mr. Sullivan, your mother and sister aren't just going away for a few months. They just wrote themselves a one-way ticket to a state penitentiary.”
