On her wedding night, the bride let out a heartbreaking scream... Her mother-in-law rushed into the room and found her trembling on the floor, while her son whispered: “She had to pay...”

Upstairs, Marguerite sat at her vanity table in the master bedroom, the overhead lights turned off, illuminated only by the pale, ethereal glow of the moon filtering through the rain-streaked window.

Her hands were shaking as she clutched a dusty, leather-bound scrapbook she had pulled from the top shelf of the hallway closet—a scrapbook containing old photographs from Nathan and Camille’s high school graduation.

She turned the pages slowly, looking at pictures of Camille smiling brightly in her cap and gown, her arm linked with Nathan’s. They had looked so happy. So full of promise. Marguerite remembered how much she had loved Camille, how she had mourned alongside Nathan when the crash happened.

“He only wanted her to be afraid,” Nathan’s voice echoed in her memory.

Marguerite closed the book with a soft thud. She stood up, smoothing down her skirt, feeling a deep, suffocating unease settle in her stomach. Something felt terribly wrong downstairs. The house was too quiet—not the quiet of a resting home, but the dead, suffocating silence of a trap waiting to be sprung.

She walked softly out into the hallway, her bare feet making no sound on the runner rug.

She passed the guest room where Élise was staying. The door was cracked open an inch. Marguerite peeked inside; Élise was curled up on the bed, fast asleep from sheer emotional exhaustion, her face stained with dried tears.

Marguerite continued down the hall, heading toward the grand staircase that led down to the study.

As she reached the top landing, she heard muffled voices drifting up from below.

“...put the gun down, Nathan! This has gone far enough!” Henri’s voice rang out, tight with urgent warning.

Marguerite’s heart leaped straight into her throat. A gun?

She rushed down the stairs as fast as her aging legs could carry her, gripping the wooden banister for support, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

When she reached the ground floor, the study door was wide open.

Marguerite stepped into the doorway, and the breath was instantly knocked out of her lungs.

Henri stood frozen near the door, his hands raised slightly in a placating gesture. Nathan stood a few feet away, holding Henri’s heavy silver revolver with both hands, the barrel aimed squarely at his own father’s chest.

“Nathan!” Marguerite shrieked, rushing into the room. “What in God’s name are you doing?! Have you lost your mind?!”

Nathan didn't look at her. His eyes remained locked on Henri, wide, wild, and utterly terrifying.

“Stay back, Mom!” Nathan shouted, not breaking eye contact with his father. “This doesn't involve you! This is between me, my father, and the truth!”

“Put the weapon down, son,” Henri said, his voice remarkably steady, though sweat beaded on his forehead. “You shoot me, and you spend the rest of your life behind bars. Is that what Camille would have wanted? Would a girl who loved you want you to become a murderer?”

Nathan’s hands trembled violently. The gun wavered in his grip. For a split second, the iron-clad wall of vengeance seemed to fracture, and the frightened, grieving boy beneath broke through.

“She’s gone, Dad...” Nathan whispered, a tear finally spilling over his eyelid and tracking down his cheek. “She’s gone, and nobody cared. Nobody except me.”

“We all cared, Nathan,” Marguerite wept, taking a hesitant step forward, her hands outstretched imploringly. “We mourned her with you. But destroying Élise won't bring Camille back. It only destroys you.”

Nathan let out a ragged, choking gasp. He lowered the gun by a fraction of an inch—

Crash!

From the hallway outside the study, a loud clatter broke the tension.

Everyone froze.

Standing in the doorway, clutching the doorframe for support, was Élise. She had woken up from the sound of shouting, and her face was a mask of absolute, paralyzing horror as she stared at the gun in Nathan’s hand.

“Nathan...” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “You... you wanted to kill me.”