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The following day, Brock heads to work, and this time, Officer Lopez arrives almost simultaneously with his departure, so I don't find myself alone. With the knowledge that we'll soon be on our way to NYC, I keep myself busy by doing laundry and tidying up the house. Snowfall has resumed, and I hope it won't persist. The last thing we need is a delayed or canceled flight. After sweeping the kitchen and bathrooms, I remove the mop from the closet and attach a Swiffer pad. I'm cautious not to use too much cleaner as I'm running low. Bending down with a sponge, I meticulously clean the baseboards, observing the little chips accumulated from years of wear. I make a mental note to repaint them once this ordeal is behind us. Officer Lopez moves in and out of the house throughout the day, but I feel secure with Herc, who remains vigilant. Every slight noise alerts him, yet I don't hear anything similar to yesterday's unsettling incident. I hope they've been deterred for good. Winter brings its own advantages, as the snowfall creates obstacles for intruders attempting to gain entry to a home. The Ring alarm system has proven invaluable. Suddenly, I remembered the Ring video footage from yesterday. It might have captured the intruder entering the garage. We have cameras both in the front and back. I retrieve my phone from the living room side table and open the Ring app. Clicking on yesterday's video, I watch closely. It doesn't take long before I spot a shadow passing at the corner of the screen. The individual is dressed in a black jacket and dark blue jeans and appears at least 5'10" tall, with hands in their pockets. Their eyes dart around nervously. I wish I could enhance the image, but I'll leave that to the police. Maybe they can obtain a clearer view if I share the recording with Gray. At least I have evidence now. Officer Lopez returns shortly after I finish cleaning, and I unlock the door for her. She's stomping her feet on the doormat. "The snow's really coming down out there. Sorry, I took a bit longer. Everything okay?" she asks. "Yeah, I managed to clean the house. Also, I checked the Ring app for footage from yesterday and found something." I hand her the phone, and she sits down to take a look, squinting as she observes. "This is great, Patrice. I want Chief to see this." She retrieves her phone and calls him instead of using the button on her shoulder. "Hey, Chief, we have some video footage from yesterday from The Summer's Ring camera. Can you drop by and check it out?" She nods. "Okay, I'll stay here until Mr. Summers gets home." After the call, Officer Lopez informs me that Gray will arrive in about an hour to examine the footage. I hope he can get a clearer view of the person. She had gone to the store earlier and picked up groceries to last us until our departure in forty-eight hours. I'm hungry when I retrieve the ingredients for a ham sandwich from the fridge, noticing the abundance of leftovers from previous meals. I'll need to clean out the fridge soon, but for now, I throw out some containers with sprouted green fuzz. I make sandwiches for Officer Lopez and myself, adding juice, chips, and some melon to the meal. It's not easy to find ripe melons in February, but I had told Officer Lopez to look for ones with a yellow bottom and a web-like exterior – signs of ripeness. I cut up the cantaloupe and honeydew melon and serve them in two bowls. We eat in silence, awaiting Gray's arrival. True to his word, he shows up approximately an hour later to review the Ring video recording. "This is good footage. You can see his face quite clearly. He appears to be about 6 feet tall," Gray observes, snapping a photo with his phone. "I'll pass this along to my deputies and see if we can get a match from the criminal database. Can you send me this information?" “I’ll see what I can do,” I say, taking back my phone. I had never tried to send video footage to anyone before, but I should be able to; I just need to do some research first. Later that night, when Gray and Officer Lopez leave, I pick up my laptop and start surfing on how to send the video to Gray. Brock’s been working on his case, but at least he’s beside me, and I feel safe. It's Saturday morning, and we're ready to head to the airport. Thankfully, it's a beautiful, sunny day. Officer Lopez came and picked up Herc the night before so we could focus on getting ready. Our flight leaves around noon, but I want to be at the airport no later than 10:00 a.m. It’s a 40-minute drive, at least. I do one quick check to ensure I have everything I need, especially the 2oz bottles we’re only allowed to have for personal use, which is stupid. What harm is a bottle of lotion, for crying out loud? I found a way to send the Ring footage to Gray so he could check the face with the criminal database. He said he would contact me if there’s a match or if his investigators are able to get any identifying information. We ordered an Uber to pick us up at 9:15, and it’s nearly 9:00. I go around the house to check all the doors and windows. We leave a light on and have the porch lights programmed to come on around 6:00 P.M. In the back, we also have motion lights and, of course, our cameras. If anyone tries to come around and break in, we’ll see them. I get a text fifteen minutes later saying the Uber driver is arriving. Brock takes out suitcases while I take the carry-on and my purse. As we head out, the sun shines on my face. I look around and down the street, and it looks as normal as it always has, and on one hand, I pray it stays that way while we’re gone. Yet, on the other hand, I want this intruder to try breaking in again so we can catch them in the act. On the way to the airport, Brock is working on his laptop to get some last-minute case details taken care of, and then we can forget about work, the police, the recorder, and Troy’s death, burial, and suspects. I check when we go through the airport doors and notice it’s nearly 10:00. Perfect. I would rather be early than late and possibly miss our fight. You never know how long the TSA lines are, if the plane is early, or if a mishap occurs. At close to noon, we can board the plane. I sit down in First Class and sigh deeply. In five hours, we will be in the heart of New York, and we can disappear for a bit. As we ascend, I see the skyline fade to clear blue skies. I remove my earbuds, turn on my phone, and listen to my relaxing playlist. Shortly after, my eyes feel heavy with the soft music lulling me to sleep. I awake to the captain saying we are making our descent into NYC. I rub my eyes and see Brock also waking up. “Good nap?” He says, putting his seat and tray in the upright position for landing. “Yeah. I don’t usually sleep on a plane, but I think everything has taken a toll on me, and I just crashed.” “Same. Let’s enjoy this trip and hope Gray and his detectives can nab this person. Oh, and I got a hold of Jeff from Long Island, and he said we could come visit anytime.” I had completely forgotten that Brock wanted to visit him. I still can’t shake the feeling that this same Jeff could be the husband of Troy’s lover. But who knows? I don’t want to worry about that now. When we get to our Manhattan Hotel, The Hilton Suites, it’s nearly 1:30, and I’m starving. “Let’s go eat,” I say as I finish unpacking my items. The hotel is a four-star establishment, and I can see why. I lay my toothbrush, paste, and other items on the white and gray swirled marble bathroom counter and glance over to the jetted tub, which looks incredibly inviting. All the gold faucets are sparkling clean, with plush towels laying neatly folded on a gold rack over the toilet, which features a bidet. I always wanted one, but Brock hates them – says you have to use more toilet paper to dry when the blast air hits you. We opted for two rooms, one with a king-size bed and large flat-screen TV, and the other, a living room with a comfortable deep blue couch and chair, a deep cherry oak coffee table, and a matching desk. The kitchen sports the same marbled counters as the bathroom, with a microwave, fridge, coffee pot, and a double sink. The plush cerulean blue carpet offsets taupe-painted walls and two framed paintings of  and  by Claude Monet at the head of the bed and over the TV. I open the sliding glass door and peer out at the towering buildings that make up the NYC skyline. We’re on the 13th floor. “I’m ready. Let’s go,” Brock says, raking a comb through his hair and following me to the door. I want to enjoy this time and unwind from the last six months.    The last thought I have before we walk into the elevator is that if Gray can’t find this person while we’re gone, when we get back, we’re in the same situation. And then what?

The next morning, I woke up on the couch, feeling alone. Brock is gone, and I reach for my phone on the coffee table. The time on the screen shows it's nearly 7:00 AM and still dark outside. Officer Lopez was scheduled to arrive at 8:00, around when Brock usually leaves for work. Should I call and ask her to come earlier? I don't want to disturb her at home. After folding the blanket and stowing it away in the closet, I decided to head upstairs to my room. I could use a shower, but I can wait until Officer Lopez arrives. In the bathroom, I brush my teeth and notice deep, dark circles under my bloodshot eyes. I turn the water on as cold as I can bear and splash it on my face. Returning downstairs to the kitchen, I set the coffee maker in motion. As I reach for a mug from the cupboard, a sudden noise startles me, and I drop the mug. A small piece breaks off the handle, but I'm too alarmed to care about it right now. My heart races as my hand instinctively clutches my chest. The sound came from the back door;  I rush to the door and confirm it's locked—thank God. Herc, my ever-faithful mutt, starts growling, and I try to hush him, pulling him closer. "Shhh, Herc," I whisper, and then hear the door rattling. That sets Hercules off and he starts barking like crazy. I start to panic but have to think rationally. The steel door is locked and bolted, so there's no way this person could come in. Still, that doesn't calm my fear. The rattling stops, and I quickly guide Hercules into the bathroom and lock the door. I fumble in my pocket for my phone and find Officer Lopez's number, dialing it in haste. "Lopez," she answers. "Someone's in my garage," I whisper urgently. "Okay, what did you hear?" she asks. "It sounded like someone kicked a box or something. I heard it just a few minutes ago. Hercules and I are locked in the bathroom." "All right, I'm on my way. Get in the bathtub, shut the curtains, and stay very quiet. I'll be there shortly." I end the call, silently praying that she arrives quickly. A few minutes later, a text notification pops up. "I'M OUTSIDE. CAN YOU UNLOCK THE DOOR AND LET ME IN?" I open the Ring app and remotely unlock the door. I hear her come in. "Mrs. Summers?" I hear her faint voice. "I'm in here," I whisper back. I hear footsteps approaching. "Okay, I'm going to check the garage. Stay put." "Okay." I rub Herc's back, trying to keep him calm, and wish I could hear what's happening outside, but there's silence. A few minutes later, I hear Officer Lopez's voice again. "All clear." I unlock the bathroom door, and Herc starts barking before realizing there's no threat. "Are you okay?" Officer Lopez asks as I cautiously step out. "Yes. Did you see anyone?" I inquire, even though I know she couldn't have. "No. I checked everywhere, including your vehicle." Did I imagine the noise? No, Herc heard it too. "I know I heard something. Herc started growling too." "I believe you, but they might have snuck out to the backyard and escaped before I arrived or as I did. I tried to be quiet so as not to scare them off with sirens." She's right. The intruder could have unlocked the door and exited through the backyard gate. But how did they get into my garage? Did I leave the door to the backyard unlocked? "I did see a storage container turned over, but it could have been something harmless like a mouse, a cat, or just a box shifting, causing it to fall over," she suggests. "Now that I'm here, I'll thoroughly inspect the property and make sure it's secure. There's snow on the ground, so if someone was here and fled through the back, I should be able to spot their footprints." "Thank you," I say with gratitude. "Just stay here and keep away from windows. I'll be back shortly." I nod and consider where to go with no windows. My house is surrounded by them. I decide to sit in the living room on the couch with Herc since it's tall enough that I won't be visible from the windows. Herc gazes up at me, seemingly aware that something is amiss. "It's okay, Herc. We're going to be all right," I say, though it's as much to reassure myself. Time seems to crawl as I wait for Officer Lopez to return. She has been gone for what feels like a long while, though when I check my watch, it's only been ten minutes. She finally knocks on the door, and I unlock it via my app. "Okay, everything looks clear, but I did see footsteps in the snow," she reports. "I took some photos and checked all around your property, but they were long gone. Did you discuss leaving with your husband?" "Yes, we're planning to leave on Saturday," I reply. Then, I remember Herc. What will we do with him? He hasn't been boarded in years, and I'm unsure if there's enough time to secure a reservation. "But I don't know what to do about Herc. I could try to get him boarded, but I can't guarantee getting a reservation." "I'll take him," Officer Lopez says, her hand gently rubbing Hercules' ears. "You want to go home with me, Hercules?" I'm taken aback by her offer. "Oh! Are you sure?" "Yes, absolutely. My kids would love to have him over." "But they're in school all day, and you're at work." "While you're away, I'll be here keeping an eye on the place. He'll only come home with me at night, but he'll stay here during the day. I may not be able to be here all day, but I'll check to see he has food and water throughout the day." I consider her proposal, thinking that it might be best for Herc. "That sounds like a good plan. I'll give you his bed and blanket for him to sleep in at night.” “Sounds good." I must have looked worried because she interjects, saying, "He'll do better being home, so you can feel better about it.” "Thank you so much! I really appreciate everything you've already done for us." I'm grateful but unsure if a hug is appropriate, so I hold back. "It's my job," she replies, "and we could use a distraction from all the electronics at the house." "Yeah, it's crazy how hooked kids are on social media," I remark, though I realize I'm not much different with my YouTube gardening channel that takes up so much of my time. "Okay, it's settled then. The sooner you can leave, the better." I have yet to look into the destinations we can go to. Brock mentioned wanting to visit NYC, so maybe that's where we'll head. I open my laptop and start searching for flights for Saturday morning. We usually get First Class tickets when we fly now, but it wasn't always that way. We have the means to do so now. After booking flights to NYC for Saturday at noon, I feel a sense of relief. We should arrive in the city by evening, and we can go out for dinner and then head to our hotel. Our tickets are for nine days, but I don't know if that's long enough. We can figure it out later. Right now, we just need to get away from here. I inform Officer Lopez of our plans, and she advises us to take an Uber to the airport instead of driving ourselves. I'm not sure why, but I trust her judgment and decide to follow her advice. When Brock returns home that night, I tell him about the intruder and the flights I've booked for Saturday. He sinks back into the couch, visibly concerned. "I'm going to stay home until Saturday. I'll have someone take over the rest of this case before it goes to trial. It's too important that you're protected." His concern is evident, and he seems determined. I reach over and take his hand. "No, you need to wrap up this case. I'll be okay. Officer Lopez will be here in the morning, and I have her cell number in case I need to reach her. Plus, Herc will protect me, won't you, buddy?" I bend down to scratch Herc's neck and give him a kiss. "Trice, whoever is targeting you won't stop. I don't know what they want since you took the recorder to Gray, and no one knows you had it, right?" "Yes, no one knows." At least, I hope no one does. We were careful at the park, and neither of us saw anyone. Of course, Goldie is now dead, and someone was in my garage, so who knows. "Mr. Summers, I will make sure Patrice is safe," Officer Lopez interjects, addressing Brock by his first name for the first time. Brock sighs deeply, reluctantly conceding. "Okay, but if this happens again or anything else puts you in danger, we are leaving. If we have to stay in a hotel until we depart on Saturday, so be it. Deal?" "Deal," I agree, getting up from the couch. Both of us are likely hungry, and I have yet to have a chance to go grocery shopping. "We need to eat." "Let me grab you some burgers," Officer Lopez offers as she gets up. "Just let me know what you want." "No, you need to get back to your family. We can order through DoorDash again," I argue, not wanting her to stay longer, especially when she has children who need her. "Okay, then I'll stay until your food arrives." After placing our order and waiting for dinner, Brock and I discuss the tourist spots we'd like to visit in NYC. "Oh, and remember, we need to visit Jeff in Long Island," he reminds me. I had forgotten about that, but it's not a good idea. We need to be alone, and in a city of ten million, we can blend in, which is exactly what I want. After dinner, Officer Lopez departs, and Brock goes around the house to double-check that everything is locked up securely. We need to inform the boys about our plans, but that can wait until morning. Brock and I stretch out on the couch, opting for another movie night. This time, I eventually rise and make my way upstairs to our bedroom. Shortly after, Brock joins me. He gently kisses me as we lie in bed, and I respond in kind. His fingers slide through my hair, igniting a passion that has been dormant for far too long. Our bodies entwine, fueled by a desire that comes from fearing the loss of one another. We make love with an intensity that reflects our deep connection. Afterward, I nestle in his arms, feeling drowsy and secure as I close my eyes. Two days can't come soon enough.

I contacted Officer Lopez and told her about my grandkids, and she agreed not leaving and having the kids not come back here was a good idea. I’m alone until Brock gets home, which may not be until later tonight. Before getting off the phone with me, he said he would try to get home earlier. I peer through the blinds and see Officer Lopez’s police car but no one other car. I can’t let this fear get to me. It’s been a couple of weeks since I put on a YouTube show. Sometimes, in the winter, I would open my mail and do a Q&A. It’s been some time since I did one, so maybe this will help occupy the day. I had gone to my P.O. box a week ago and grabbed all my mail. It’s sitting in a box in my closet, so I open the front closet, pull out the box, and start sifting through the letters. I open several of them to use in my video and then see one without an address. It’s not entirely odd since some don’t want me to know their address, which I can understand, but this one just says Patrice Summers and my P.O. Box number, but turning it over, I notice a distinctive smell: lavender. It’s quite strong. I tear the envelope at the corner, peer inside, and see one piece of paper. I hesitate to open the envelope completely and put it aside. I will open it when Brock is home. I take the letters to my home office and set up everything to go live. I figure I could do a 30-minute Q&A on gardening issues. I change my clothes, brush my hair, then apply makeup. I open my laptop, place it on my table, and arrange my Ring light. I adjust my microphone, and I’m ready. For the next 30 minutes, I open letters and answer questions. Afterward, I noticed about 50,000 views and over 100 comments pop up. I love reading the comments. I scroll down and then see the username of   and the comment,  I look at it again and feel a prickling on my neck. Is this the unknown name and address of this username? With a shaky hand, I pick up the tan business envelope, rip it completely, and pull out the letter. I unfold it, and it’s very short but in all caps, typed. I KILLED GOLDIE IF YOU KEEP GETTING IN MY BUSINESS I'LL KILL YOU TOO I drop the letter, and immediately, my body floods with adrenaline, and I feel sick. I call Officer Lopez and tell her about the letter. “I’ll be there shortly.” I pace back and forth, waiting. I hear a knock, and then I hear her voice. I quickly open the door. She walks in, and I shut and lock it. “Are you OK?” She says. “No, I’m not.” I hand her the letter, and she reads it. “There’s no address?” “No, but I did a video on YouTube, on my gardening channel, and one of the comments read, Did you read my letter? I promise you will want to know what it says.” “Can I look at it?” “Yes.” I open the laptop and give it to Officer Lopez. She takes it, sits down on the couch, and scrolls down. She looks lost in thought. “We need to show this to Chief. Maybe he can get the IP address.” She pushes a button near her neck and gets Gray’s attention, to which he says he will be right over. “We need to get you long-term protection,” she says. “This person knows what you look like, your P.O. box in Grantsville, and may have been tracking you. You’re not safe.” I close my eyes and realize I shouldn’t have recorded the video today. Me, and possibly Brock, are now this person’s target. Shortly after, Gray shows up at my door. Officer Lopez lets him in. “Trice, we need to get you protection. This person isn’t afraid to comment on your channel and send you a letter warning you. Does Brock know about this?” “Not yet. He’s in court. He does know everything else, though, and we talked about leaving the state for a week or so.” “It may help, but when you get back, you’re still in danger until we can identify the four people involved in Troy’s murder.” He’s right. No matter where and for how long I’m gone, I’m still a target when I get back. “Lopez, I want you here until they leave the state. We are trying to get a meeting with Grant at the prison to get him to tell us the four people who helped bury Troy. We may have to make a deal with him.” I understand. I don’t like it, but I understand that Gray will have to reduce Grant’s sentence to eliminate the danger.  Officer Lopez nods. “Got it, Chief.”  “Trice, it will be OK. Just stay put; keep your windows and doors locked. If you need something, do it through delivery. Right now, you’re safer at home. But, if we need to put you in witness protection –“ "No, I can't do that," I interrupt firmly. "I refuse to let these people win. Brock and I will leave for a bit and let you guys do your job, but I won't let them destroy my life and family." Gray and Officer Lopez exchange glances. "All right," Gray says, "then I'll leave Officer Lopez here, but if there's anything suspicious, you will let me know immediately." He looks at both me and her, and we both nod. After Gray departs, I sit on the couch, my head throbbing. I rub my temples, and Officer Lopez asks, "Are you okay?" "I just have a headache." "Where's your Ibuprofen?" "Top cupboard left of the sink." Officer Lopez heads into the kitchen, and all I can think about is my family's safety. I put them all in danger when I answered Goldie's texts, and it didn't matter anyway, as she ended up dead. Am I next? Suddenly, I feel mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted. I lie down on the couch and close my eyes. When I wake, it's nearly dark, and my stomach growls. My headache is gone, and I feel like I've had a good sleep, but now I worry about being awake all night. I check my watch; it's almost 5:00. In the bathroom, I splash cold water on my face, brush my hair, and look outside to see the icy blue sky. The wind has calmed, and the snow has started to melt. When I come back out, I see Officer Lopez on her laptop. She closes it when she notices me. "Have a good nap?" she asks. "Yes, it felt good, but I'm starving. I don't even think I had lunch. Maybe that's why I got the headache." "That makes sense. Do you have food to make, or should we order in?" I think about the fridge's contents and don’t even know if we have milk, but knowing shopping day is tomorrow, there might not be much. "Let's order in," I suggest. "Sounds good. I'm going to use my DoorDash account. What sounds good to you?" "I don't care. Anything sounds good right now, actually." Officer Lopez picks up her phone and orders Chinese. "How about lemon chicken, shrimp, sweet and sour pork, and ham fried rice?" My mouth waters at the thought. "Perfect, thanks. Just let me know the charge, and I'll Venmo you the money." "Sure thing. It'll be here in about 30 minutes." I turn on the TV and occupy myself until the food arrives. Officer Lopez keeps an eye out for the delivery driver, who leaves the food on the porch before departing. She retrieves the food and scans the yard before closing the door. It's frustrating not being able to leave my house freely. I quickly devour the food and store the leftovers while Officer Lopez continues her work on the laptop. I wrap myself in a blanket from the hall closet and watch a movie, feeling the cold despite the blanket's warmth. Hercules stays by my side. A few hours later, Brock arrives home, and Officer Lopez briefs him on the situation. She departs, promising to return in the morning. "There's Chinese in the fridge," I inform him. "Great, sounds good. How are you holding up?" "Better now. I took a long nap. Earlier, though, I had a terrible headache. I hate this," I say, tears welling up. Brock reaches over and hugs me. "It will be okay. I've got the week off next week, so just five more days, and we can leave and go anywhere you want." Five days still feels like an eternity, but it's only Wednesday. We could leave on Saturday, however. I propose the idea to Brock, and he agrees. So, I have to endure three more days. I rest my head on Brock's lap as he gently rubs my back. I miss his touch; it's been so long since we've been intimate. As I begin to drift off to sleep, I feel safe for the first time in days. I just have to survive three more days.

My heart races with worry. I pray to God that the news article doesn't refer to Goldie, but a sinking feeling tells me otherwise. She never reached her destination, and I can't help but question the authenticity of the text message. Does this person know me? Panic starts to well up inside me, and I rush around my house, making sure all doors and windows are securely locked. As I read the article, it confirms my worst fears. The body was found in a Home Depot parking lot, just as Brock had mentioned seeing Goldie's car there. It's undoubtedly her, and I can't shake the fear that this person may also know where I live. Have they been watching my home, waiting for an opportunity? The only individuals with a motive to harm Goldie are the ones named on the recording, along with Jeff Patterson. But would he travel all the way to Grantsville just to kill her? It's an unsettling thought. I continue reading the article, and a chilling realization sets in. Someone discovered the body in the passenger seat and initially thought she was asleep. But upon closer inspection, they realized she had been shot in the head. The thought that Goldie knew she was going to die pulls at my heart, and tears stream down my face. I can't imagine the fear and despair she must have felt in those final moments. As I ponder how the killer found her and whether she really sent that text, I remember her words about delivering the recorder to Chief Errington if anything happened to her. I rush upstairs to retrieve the recorder from my bathroom, then head back downstairs, hastily bundling up in my coat and gloves. I glance out my living room window to ensure no one is watching before getting into my car. I drive cautiously, constantly checking my rearview mirror for any signs of being followed. Thankfully, there's no one behind me as I pull into the police station, praying that justice will be served. I ask for Chief Errington, but Officer Lopez arrives instead, inquiring about my purpose. She reminds me of a police detective from one of those crime-solving TV shows. Her black hair is pulled into a tight ponytail, and her flawless brown skin has a natural beauty. I marvel that she doesn’t need any makeup when her big, brown eyes scrutinize me. I explain that I have something to give to him from Goldie Stanton. Her eyes widen with surprise, and she promises to inform the chief. He comes out and waves me into his office. "Trice," Gray greets me when I walk inside. "Hey, Gray." I search in my purse for the recorder, which I had slipped into my wallet before leaving for the station. "This was given to me by Goldie yesterday morning. She instructed me to give it to you if anything were to happen to her. It contains the names of everyone involved in Troy's murder." I slide it towards him. Gray takes the recorder and listens to the contents, his expression growing grimmer as he hears what I had heard. After the recording finishes, he places his hands behind his head in thought. "This is likely the reason someone killed her," I suggest. "Yeah, it certainly seems that way. We only have first names, but if I can get Grant to provide their last names, we can bring them in for questioning. He'll probably want a plea deal, even after what he did to Troy. I'll need some time to figure this out. Thank you, Trice, for delivering this to me.” Worry is etched on his face. “But since you had contact with her, you might be in danger now. I'll have Officer Lopez follow you home and keep an eye on the area for a while." "Okay, thanks," I reply. I get up and follow Officer Lopez outside. Gray accompanies us. "Trice," Gray says before I leave the building. "Yeah?" "Be careful. This person is very dangerous, and they won't hesitate to case out your home and ensure you're alone." I gulp and nod. "I understand. I've informed Brock, and he mentioned he might try to take some vacation time so we can leave the area for a while." "All right, let me know your plans.” "I will," I assure him. I walk to my car and wait for Officer Lopez to follow me home, cranking up the heat while watching through my windshield. A few cars pass by, but nothing appears suspicious. On the way home, I check my rearview mirror multiple times and see Officer Lopez's car following at a reasonable distance. When I arrive home, I press the garage door remote to enter, but Officer Lopez parks behind me and signals for me to stop. I slam on my brakes, and she approaches my car. I lower the window with a push of a button. "Don't pull into the garage until I've checked it out to ensure it's safe," she advises. I find her caution sensible, so I await her inspection before proceeding. She motions for me to drive in once everything is clear, and I obey, but she stops me again. "Let me go in first to make sure everything is secure," she says. I nod and wait, contemplating whether I should close the garage door while I wait. Deciding it's safer, I lower myself to the front of the car, feeling slightly absurd. A few minutes later, Officer Lopez returns. "Okay you can come in now. But make sure to close the garage door behind you," she instructs. I press the button, closing the garage door behind me, feeling a sense of security with Officer Lopez present, knowing she's armed and prepared for any potential threat. Herc bounds toward me but growls when he spots Officer Lopez. She wisely extends her hand, palm down, allowing Herc to sniff it. After a moment of interaction, Herc's demeanor relaxes, and Officer Lopez gently rubs his back. "Everything looks clear," Officer Lopez informs me. "I'll be out front, keeping an eye on your property and neighbors. How long will you be alone?" I consider the schedule I keep with my grandkids. "I pick up my grandkids from school and watch them on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. So, I'm alone from about 3:30 to 6:30. My husband, a Salt Lake City attorney, sometimes works late and doesn't come home until around 9:00. He leaves for work at about 8:30, so I'm alone most mornings and afternoons." Officer Lopez glances out the window. "All right, I'll give you my cell number. Keep your doors locked, and don't answer the door for anyone. If you hear anything outside that sounds unusual, call me immediately. I'll be here for a few hours, then I have a meeting at the station. After that, I'll return to patrol the area. When you pick up the grandkids, I'll be here watching the house. How far is the kids' school?" I provide an estimate, noting that it's about four miles away. "Okay," Officer Lopez acknowledges. "I'm sure you leave a bit early to get in line for pickup." "Yeah," I confirm, "I usually leave around 3:00 and wait for about 15 minutes before they get out at 3:15." "Got it. Just pick them up as usual, but stay aware of your surroundings. Look out for any cars following closely or appearing to watch you or the school." My anxiety deepens as I consider the potential risk to my grandkids. Taking them to their house seems unsafe, as it could lead the threat straight to their location. Officer Lopez gives the all-clear signal and departs, emphasizing the importance of locking the door immediately after her exit. I follow her instructions and then find myself with over five hours to kill until I pick up the grandkids. I feel trapped, like a prisoner in my own home. Realizing I can't jeopardize my grandkids' safety, I decide to call my son, Eric, and fill him in on the situation. I send him a text and request an urgent call. A few minutes later, my son, Eric, phones me. "Mom? Are you okay? What about the kids?" "I'm fine, and the kids are okay, but there are some things you need to know." I proceed to share all the details with him, and the phone call falls momentarily silent. "Mom, this isn’t good. Okay, um, I think it's best if the kids don't come over then," Eric eventually responds. "Since you have the police there patrolling the area, that makes me feel a little better. If my kids are in danger, though, I need to get them out. Let me call Steph, and I'll call you back." I agree to his decision, telling him I love him. I anxiously await his call. A few minutes later, he rings back. "Mom, I'll pick up the kids from school and take them to Steph's parents. They'll look after them until we can figure out what to do." "Okay. I'm sorry about all of this." "I just want you and the kids to be safe." "I completely understand." "Mom, you need to tell Dad now. You can't stay home alone." "I know, and I will." "Love you, Mom. Stay safe." Tears well up in my eyes. "I will. Love you too." With the knowledge that the kids will be safe elsewhere, I dial Brock's number and deliver the news to him. "Damn, Trice, what's going on?" he exclaims. "I don't know, but whoever is involved in Troy's death won't stop." "I have court all week, so I can't be home. But next week, we're taking time off. I'll make sure of it." "Okay. I'll be fine with Officer Lopez here, but I don't dare venture out. Who knows what will happen." "Just stay inside, keep the doors locked, and only pick up the phone if you know who it is. Promise me." "I promise," I assure him. Now that Goldie is gone, I doubt anyone will try messaging me unless... that message I received from Goldie's phone the day she died wasn't actually from her. A sudden shiver runs through me, causing me to tremble. If this individual has possession of Goldie's phone, they could have access to all our text messages, especially if Goldie failed to delete them. My phone number is also stored in her contacts. I send a silent prayer that Gray can obtain those last names swiftly. Two people have already met a grim fate. I can't shake the chilling thought … I might be the next target.

In the 43rd installment and part three of flipping your grass into a beautiful water-wise garden, where I discuss the perfect plants to grow. But first, before planting your garden, design it. Do you want tall plants intermingled with smaller plants, all tall plants, all small ones, or a cascading effect of tall, smaller, and small? Install the water system. Even though you will grow drought-tolerant plants, you still need to get them established first, and that takes regular watering. Drip systems work well for this because it allows you to meter the watering, thus ensuring the correct amount of water at the right time. Next, are you putting in rock, gravel, or just dirt? There are advantages and disadvantages with any type of substrate. Now onto the good stuff. Here are tried and true plants to grow in your garden. 🌵 Cactus plants (which there are many) take very little water and repel many pests due to their sharp stickers. 🏵 Yarrow is a great addition to any drought-resistance garden. Multiple bushy flowers are on each sturdy stem in beautiful colors, including red, purple, peach, yellow, and white, with different shades of those colors. 🌻 Sunflowers can make a rock garden shine and create a bold statement. There are small and mammoth sunflowers you can use as a backdrop or use as centerpieces. 🌿 Aloe not only doesn't need much water but it's medicinal. Have a sunburn or mosquito bite? Aloe vera helps to calm the itch and pain. 🌼 Rockrose has a perfume aroma that displays large, papery flowers; they are fast growing and love the sun, and don't need much water to thrive. 🏵 Brittlebrush are a bush teeming with yellow daises that need minimal watering and offer a bright addition to a water-wise garden. 🌸 Crape Myrtle puts on quite a show in summer with gorgeous, showy blossoms that linger into fall. The beautiful, dark bark contrasts with bright pinks, purples, reds, and snow-white flowers. 🌼 Bougainvillea provides an instant tropical feel to your garden, which feature vibrant, often vining blooms and peak in summer, and in milder climates bloom from early spring to late fall. 🏵 Marigolds, with their strong, aromatic scent and mustard blooms do quite well in a water-wise garden. Bonus is that they keep away nasty pests, so your plants stay healthy without being food to unwanted insects. This is just a small sample of plants that do well in deserts or without much water. Do you have a water-wise garden? Post your pics below! Happy Gardening!! ____________________________________________________________________ Hi, thanks for reading! I'm a 30-year garden veteran, having planted over 500 species of plants. Please like, comment, share, and join my gardening group where I post on everything garden related. Visit my website @ jewelswrites.blogspot.com & follow me on IG hotmamagardener

The words Goldie shared with me at the park would linger in my memory for a long time. I wish we could offer her a safe haven in our home. We have the space, but she had been confined to her own home for the past year, and leaving behind the residence she had known for decades would undoubtedly be challenging. Moreover, bringing her into our home would only make us more susceptible to danger, given the risks we already faced. I make my way back home before the snowfall worsens. My thoughts keeps returning to that elusive ring. With the ground now frozen, searching for it would have to wait until spring. I reach into my pocket, feeling for the small recorder that Goldie had entrusted to me. Upon my arrival home, Herc greets me with an enthusiastic wag of his tail. I bend down to scratch his ears and prepare hot chocolate before settling at the kitchen table. With the recorder in hand, I switch it on and begin listening to Goldie's message. "This is Goldie Stanton, and I possess the names of the individuals involved in Troy Carmichael's death and burial," her voice resonated from the recorder. "In the event of my demise, I have instructed Patrice Summers to deliver this recorder to Chief Errington. I cannot ascertain the extent of these individuals' knowledge, but I have been threatened and nearly killed twice. They must not escape justice for Troy's murder and the disposal of his body. Following these names, please continue listening, for I have also recorded my conversation with Ms. Summers. She is now privy to the same information you will hear shortly." The recording paused briefly before resuming, and I heard Goldie's voice again. "If I should pass away, my children will inherit my home. Although I have made a will, these are my spoken wishes. I am of sound mind, and my only desire is for my family to be secure and protected." She proceeded to reveal the names of those involved - Ely, Colton, Petra, and Greg. Although unsure of their last names, she suggested that her nephew might possess that information. Goldie emphasized her quest for justice for Troy and her determination to shield her family from the grim truth. I stop the recording, realizing the gravity of what had been shared. Considering all the novels and TV shows I have seen, I need to find a secure hiding place. It needs to be a location where no one would think to look or dare to search. My bathroom comes to mind. Although I no longer had a menstrual cycle, I still kept some medical supplies for other purposes. Climbing the stairs, I enter the bathroom and open the bottom drawer. Extracting a Preparation H tube from its container from the farthest corner, I replace it with the small recorder Goldie had given me. It fit snugly, and I conceal it at the back of the drawer where it would remain unnoticed. Returning downstairs, I switch on the TV and gaze out at the gently falling snow. I appreciated the beauty of winter, particularly the warmth of hot chocolate, a cozy blanket, and engaging murder mysteries. Herc curled up beside me. His multicolored fur, a mix of black, brown, and white, held fond memories of the day I first saw him, and I cherished his presence. Later, I awake from an unplanned nap and discover my phone buzzing. I grab it swiftly, noticing a text message from Goldie. "GOING OUT OF TOWN FOR THE REST OF THE WEEK – BE BACK LATER," her message read. Although somewhat surprised, I understood her need to distance herself from potential threats. Perhaps she is going to visit her sons. Although unaware of their whereabouts, her safety is paramount. I reply, "ENJOY YOUR WEEK," hoping she would remain safe during her absence. In the afternoon, I pick up my grandchildren from school, navigating the slippery roads caused by the accumulating snow. I detest driving in such conditions but ensure their safe arrival home. Upon returning, the children eagerly indulge in hot cocoa with cookies, adhering to my rules of orderly eating in the living room. They each grab a coaster, plate, and napkin. I glance at Connor, who seems fixated on something outside. "What are you looking at, Con?" I inquire. He points and I follow his gaze, spotting the same cat from last year circling a corner of my backyard. It struck me as peculiar, given the cold and snowy weather. "Don't go anywhere, Con," I caution before stepping outside to investigate. Hercules follows me through the doggy door. As I approach, I discover a lifeless bird, perhaps a crow, lying in the snow. Herc begins sniffing it. Something doesn't add up – dogs typically hunted birds, but Herc hadn't been outside all day and showed no interest in bird hunting. I shoo the cat away, and it retreats into a nearby tree. Disliking the handling of deceased birds, I fetch a shovel from the shed and dispose of it in the garbage can, wiping away any traces of blood with my foot, which I then conceal beneath the freshly fallen snow. Returning indoors, I feel a chill that has nothing to do with the weather. As I contemplate the strange occurrence, Herc follows me inside. "Was that a bird?" Connor inquires, staring at me with curiosity. "Yes, perhaps a crow. I think something killed it – maybe the cat that's often in our tree," I explain. Connor shrugs, seemingly unfazed. "Come on, it's cold," I urge, holding my mug and cookies, and we retreat to the warmth of the living room. Later that night, after the kids leave, I resume my reading in bed, a nightly ritual. The clock nears 9:00, and the garage door announces my husband's return. Brock's relentless work schedule weighs on my mind; I worry about his health and wish he would slow down. As he approaches 61, I fear the toll his demanding job could take on him, especially since he was seldom home. A few minutes later, he enters the room. "Hey, hon, how was your day?" he asks, climbing onto the bed and kissing me. "Good." I hesitate about mentioning my earlier conversation with Goldie to Brock, wondering if I should finally open up to him. He's my husband, and I've already kept so much from him. Perhaps it's time to share. I set the book on my nightstand. He studies my expression, his brows furrowing. "Uh-oh, I don't like your tone." "Sorry, but I need to tell you some things I've been keeping from you. I know I should have said something sooner, but I was worried." I take a deep breath and proceed to reveal everything I know, including the existence of the recorder. After hearing my account, he lowers his head and shakes it. "Trice, why didn't you tell me sooner? I can't believe you've held onto this for so long." He leans over and hugs me, surprising me with his lack of anger. "I was trying to protect Goldie, but Brock, she's in grave danger, and I don't know how to help her." "Well," he says, "you mentioned that Chief Errington is keeping a close eye on her, right? There's nothing more you can do except let them handle it." "She texted me shortly after leaving the park and told me she was going out of town for the rest of the week, which I thought might be safer." Brock looks at me curiously. "When was that?" "About 10:30 this morning." He taps his chin thoughtfully. "That's odd, because I saw her car parked at the Home Depot off State Street around noon. I had just come back from the courthouse and thought about grabbing lunch at Daniels." I furrow my brow, wondering how Brock knows what Goldie's car looks like and why he didn't contact me to meet for lunch. He usually has an hour, sometimes more, between court sessions. Maybe he quickly grabbed lunch and returned to work. However, my thoughts quickly pivot back to Goldie. "How do you know what her car looks like?" Brock gives me an incredulous look. "Come on, Trice, she's had that car for years. Plus, her license plate is pretty memorable." He's right; Goldie's license plate spells out "GOLDIE," and her car is, fittingly, a gold Toyota Camry. She had to order it from another state because no local dealer carried that color. "Well, perhaps she stopped at Home Depot before heading out," I suggest. "I assume she's visiting her kids, although I don't know where they live. Maybe they're in Salt Lake since she mentioned going 'out of town,' not 'out of state.'" In hindsight, Goldie being at Home Depot doesn't make much sense. Brock nods. "Could be." I contemplate sending Goldie a message to check on her and make sure she arrived safely at her destination. However, it's likely late on the East Coast, so I decide to wait until morning. She may be tired and already asleep. As I watch the snow fall gently outside, I can't help but wonder how much more snow we'll get overnight. The following morning, I wake up to find Brock gone again. I yawn and rub my eyes, feeling like I had a restless night, even though I can't recall any dreams. My memory for dreams has been fading as I age. I reach for my phone to check for messages and find none. Glancing at the clock, I see it's nearly 7:30. It's probably not too early to send Goldie a text. I type a quick message: JUST CHECKING TO SEE HOW YOU ARE AND IF YOU MADE IT TO WHEREVER YOU WERE GOING. I wait for a few minutes, but I don't get a response. She might still be asleep, so I get up and look outside. It's a beautiful, sunny morning. Realizing I need a shower, I gather my clothes and head into the bathroom. After my shower, I recheck my phone, hoping for a reply, but there are no new messages. A sense of unease settles in my stomach, but I try to push it aside. If I don't hear from Goldie by tonight, I'll try reaching out to her again. I head downstairs to grab some breakfast and open my laptop. As I glance out through the sliding door in the kitchen, I notice a significant amount of snow that must have fallen overnight. I spend some time browsing the internet and then decide to check the latest news on the KSL website to see if there are any reports about the recent storm. At the top of the page, one particular story catches my attention. The headline reads: Body Found in Car

PART THREE Almost six months had passed since Troy's discovery, Deanna's arrest and release, and the arrest of Grant Lawson, who faced charges of drugging his aunt and falsely diagnosing her with dementia, a cruel manipulation facilitated by mind-altering drugs. In the midst of this turmoil, another individual, Jeff, was brought in for questioning as Grant confessed that it was Jeff who had paid his associates $10,000 each to dispose of Troy's body and an additional $20,000 to carry out the murder. Jeff, reportedly the husband of the woman Troy had an affair with, vehemently denied any involvement, even though the investigation remained ongoing. Jeff had a compelling alibi for the crucial weekend, June 15, when Deanna and her children had gone camping. The puzzle persisted: who had orchestrated this sinister plot, and was Jeff framed? The mystery surrounding my backyard, which was undoubtedly linked to the disposal of Troy's body, continued to gnaw at my thoughts. The texts from the messenger, particularly the one mentioning the ring Goldie messaged me months ago about and what I tried to retrieve but never could find was also on my mind. Months had passed since the last message from the messenger, suggesting a resolution to Troy's murder, as his nephew, Grant, was now behind bars. However, the abrupt message on Valentine's Day raised new questions and concerns: NEED YOUR HELP NOT OVER I stared at my phone, perplexed. What did the messenger mean by "not over"? Was there another layer to this story that remained concealed from everyone? PLEASE – I’M IN DANGER The messenger, it appeared, had unearthed something dangerous. But how could I, a stranger, possibly assist them? The situation weighed heavily on my mind. CAN WE MEET? I watched the three dots indicating a response, my hesitancy mixed with a growing sense of responsibility. PARK 8:00 AM TOMORROW MORNING My apprehensions battled with my desire to help. Could I trust this person? What if this was all an elaborate ruse? Nevertheless, the earlier messages alluded to safeguarding their family, compelling me to take action. If the messenger was indeed in danger, it was my moral obligation to assist in any way possible. WILL BE THERE The following morning, my heart raced as I anticipated the messenger's revelations. However, I couldn't let my unease hinder the day's plans. I had promised to take my grandkids to the latest Disney movie, granting their parents a Valentine's Day night out. As they arrived, we embarked on our outing, enveloped by the warmth of family bonding. Later that night, I lay in bed, engrossed in my book, when the sound of the garage door interrupted my reverie. Herc scampered downstairs to greet Brock, a routine they followed religiously. I glanced at the clock; it was nearly 10:00 PM. Our Valentine's Day had passed like any other day, devoid of flowers or cards, reflecting the dwindling romance in our 35-year marriage. Brock entered the room, loosening his tie and placing his plate and cup on the nightstand before collapsing onto the bed, Hercules at his feet. His eyes fluttered closed. "I'm so exhausted," he muttered. "This case has been a nightmare. If we don't wrap it up this week, the trial won't begin until mid-March due to the judge's daughter's wedding in Hawaii at the end of February." "I understand," I replied with a hint of disappointment. It had been two weeks of 12 to 14-hour workdays, and I yearned for more quality time with my husband. "But it feels like I'm a widow sometimes." Brock's eyes opened, and he sighed deeply. "I know, and I'm sorry. After this case, I've got some vacation time. Let's plan a getaway, just the two of us." A spark of excitement surged within me. It had been years since we'd taken a trip together. "I'd love that." "Great. Any particular destination in mind?" The thought of visiting New York City had always intrigued me. "How about New York? I'd love to explore the city and take in all the tourist attractions." Brock's eyes lit up. "Sounds fantastic. It's been ages since I was there, and that was for work. I'd also like to visit Long Island and catch up with Jeff, my old buddy's son. You remember he used to hang out with our boys?" It's twice that I've heard that name, but the years have faded memories, and I can't remember this particular Jeff. "Sure, that sounds nice." As our plans took shape, I contemplated the tumultuous events of the past six months. Deanna's departure from her home, the unresolved mystery of the ring, and the messenger's cryptic messages weighed on my mind. The mention of Jeff's name both intrigued and disturbed me. By the time my thoughts shifted to the upcoming meeting with the messenger, I had drifted into slumber, and it was Brock's departure for work that roused me from my restless sleep. After my morning routine, which included arming myself with mace, I embarked on my journey to Grantsville City Park. The winter's chill lingered in the air, the roads cleared of the previous day's snowfall. Arriving at the park, I found it deserted, a foreboding sign. Only one other vehicle, presumably belonging to the messenger, occupied the parking area. As I parked beside the car, a surge of apprehension coursed through me. I scanned the park, not daring to believe what I saw. Seated on a bench in the corner was none other than Goldie Stanton, my former elementary school teacher. Her golden hair had been the source of her name when she was born, and her identity was unmistakable despite the passage of time. "Hi, Trice," she greeted me with a nervous smile. "Mrs. Stanton?" My confusion and concern were palpable. "Please, call me Goldie." "Alright," I acquiesced, struggling to articulate my thoughts. "I never imagined..." Goldie interrupted, acknowledging my unspoken words. "I know. Believe me, I didn't want to be involved in any of this, and I certainly didn't want to involve you. But I didn't know where else to turn. I've already had my life threatened and nearly lost it twice. You know my nephew, Grant, was responsible for Troy's murder, but what you don't know is who orchestrated it." My suspicions were confirmed, yet I wanted to hear it from her. Her revelation about the threats and near-death experiences sent a chill down my spine. "It was Melanie's husband, Jeff," Goldie continued, her voice laden with gravity. "Grant executed the act, with three others assisting in disposing of the body. Remember the ring I mentioned?" "Yes," I replied. "Well, it's never been recovered. If that ring surfaces, it will lead the authorities to his accomplices. Currently, Jeff denies any involvement, and the police can't connect him to Grant. But allowing my nephew to murder Troy is reprehensible. He must be held accountable, along with the others." The name "Jeff" resurfaced once more, leaving me to ponder the possibility of this being the same Jeff from New York City who used to be buddies with our boys. It sounds implausible, but if he once lived here before relocating, it might just be the same individual. "I concur," I replied, glancing around the park to ensure our privacy was maintained. "Even if we manage to find the ring and present it to the police, it would only implicate one person." "Yes," Goldie agreed, "but I assure you, once they catch him, he'll sing like a canary and reveal the mastermind behind it all." "True," I conceded. "But what if the others genuinely don't know who orchestrated it? Did Grant ever mention the mastermind's name?" Goldie furrowed her brows and shook her head. "Not to my knowledge, but he could have said something to them that night or earlier when I couldn't overhear. Nevertheless, I don't think that's a critical factor. If everyone else comes forward and corroborates what Grant said about receiving $10,000 each for body disposal, it would significantly complicate Jeff's escape." Her reasoning made sense, and I nodded in agreement. Goldie then turned to me, her gaze scanning the park and the surrounding area to ensure our safety. "I'm sharing this with you because if something were to happen to me, I want someone else to know the truth," she confided. "Now that Grant is in prison, it's just me. I have security measures in place, and the police regularly patrol my vicinity, but they can't provide long-term protection. I'm a target if these individuals become aware that I possess this knowledge. I've already faced a near-fatal incident when an intruder broke into my home. Fortunately, Grant was there and managed to intervene. Then, when Officer Lopez, Chief Errington, and I were at the police station, someone hurled a smoke grenade through the window. I suffered from smoke inhalation and had to undergo oxygen therapy due to the toxic substances in the grenade. Someone even followed us home and monitored my residence. I'm far from safe." I was taken aback by the harrowing experiences Goldie had endured. Her foreboding words about her safety made me shiver. "You must inform Chief Errington of your concerns," I urged. "He's aware and doing everything within his power," Goldie assured me. "However, we don't reside in a bustling metropolis with an abundance of police officers. I'll ensure my doors are always locked and set the alarm when I leave. I've equipped myself with mace and even a firearm. I'm taking every possible precaution to safeguard myself. But in the event that something does happen, I want you to have some leverage or evidence. I'm currently recording our conversation," she disclosed, producing a small rectangular recorder I hadn't seen in years. "I opted not to use my phone for this. I want you to have this recorder. If I meet an unfortunate end, take it to Chief Errington. It contains the names of everyone involved in Troy's death." She pressed the stop button on the recorder. After cautiously scanning our surroundings, Goldie placed the recorder on the bench and pushed it toward me. I discreetly retrieved it and slipped it into my pocket while keeping a vigilant eye on the eerily quiet park as the snow began to fall. Goldie embraced me, her parting words casting a haunting pall over the day. "It may be my time."

It was the eve of Christmas, and Melanie was five days overdue, enduring the discomfort that comes with late-stage pregnancy. Outside, snowflakes drifted gently down as she reclined on the couch, her belly large and pronounced. A small plate balanced precariously on her protruding bump. Everything had been meticulously prepared for this moment, a month's worth of readiness. Brimming with excitement, the children relentlessly inquired about the impending arrival of baby Ian, particularly Kirsten, who celebrated her seventh birthday in October. Since Grant's phone call from jail, he had fallen silent, leaving me to grapple with the conversation where I had inadvertently implicated him. While he knew my reluctance to harm Troy, he had a persuasive way about him, ultimately leading me to compromise my values. The guilt had consumed me in the days that followed, every doorbell ring or knock sending shivers down my spine as I dreaded the arrival of the police. Nevertheless, I had taken precautions. No one, not Grant nor anyone else, would jeopardize my budding romance or the imminent arrival of our baby. Later that night, I jolted awake at the sound of Melanie's gasp. "My water just broke!" Her voice trembled as she stood at the foot of our bed, her gaze directed downward. "All right, let's go!" I rouse the kids, who had their suitcases ready for this moment, meant for a visit to my parents when the time came. "Ian is on his way," Kirsten gleefully skipped toward the car. According to my watch, it was nearly 3:30 a.m., with Christmas looming just two days away. I silently cursed the timing. As we sped towards the hospital, Melanie's moans filled the car. "These contractions are really intense." "Hang in there, just a few more minutes." Upon our arrival at the hospital, the orderlies whisked Melanie into the Labor and Delivery unit. I handled the check-in process, and upon entering her room, I found a plump nurse with short red hair, thick-rimmed brown glasses, and green eyes examining the contraction monitor. "You're making great progress, Melanie. Contractions are strong, about every 4 minutes now. I'll call the doctor in to check on you soon," she assured us before departing. I glimpsed at her name badge as she left – Nurse Warner – and noted her thorough hand sanitizing routine. "Did you hear that? We're almost there," I said, gently wiping Melanie's perspiring forehead. "Would you like some ice chips?" She nodded, moaning once more. I hurriedly sought out the nurse, procured a cup, and filled it with ice chips. Upon my return, she grasped an ice cube, rubbing it against her forehead and face before downing the entire cup. "It's so hot," Melanie murmured, kicking off her covers. A doctor, not Melanie's regular one, entered the room. "Hi, Melanie. I'll be delivering Baby Ian today, as Doctor Bradford is on Christmas vacation. Let's check your progress, shall we?" Dr. Bradford donned latex gloves, his silver hair glistening under the bright light he adjusted. Towering in stature, he positioned himself and examined her, a warm smile gracing his face. "You're dilated to a 7 now, so it won't be long," he informed us, prompting another pained moan from Melanie. "It's painful. Can I get an epidural?" Melanie inquired, her voice tinged with desperation. The doctor's expression turned apologetic. "I'm afraid it's too late for that now. You're too far along. But, considering your progress, Ian will be here soon." Melanie sighed, closing her eyes, visibly attempting to regain her composure. Around twenty minutes later, Melanie uttered, "I have to push; he's coming." Her voice quivered with fatigue. I rushed out of the room to summon the doctor. He arrived promptly, examined her, and confirmed that she was fully dilated and ready to push. At 4:42 AM, Ian made his entrance into the world, his cries filling the room. He boasted a full head of dark brown hair, reminiscent of Jayden's birth. As I studied his tiny features, I couldn't help but notice the similarities – his nose and lips matched mine. The realization hit me like a thunderbolt. It was my birthday, and we had been intimate for the first time in a long while. She had done it as a birthday gift, but I had been oblivious to her affair with Troy. Ian might be my son.

It’s been a few weeks since Troy was found. His ex-wife was arrested a week ago when a necklace placed on his chest before burying him was found to have her fingerprints on it. Just like Grant said would happen, did, and now it may be months before anything commences, such as a trial. Melanie was nearly seven months pregnant and glowing. She seems happier now since I have spent much more time with her. She even took the kids to the fair before they went back to school last week. It seems we’re all going to get away with it. I bought a crib, changing table, and rocker for Ian, the name Melanie chose for her son and Troy’s middle name. (William) We painted the baby’s room a lilac, and she had it decorated with dark purple blocks spelling out his name that she placed on his small dresser. A large framed portrait of a pregnant Melanie, taken just a month ago, was over the dresser. She's holding her stomach and turning sideways towards a rising sun. A custom-made mobile displaying her and Troy’s pictures was placed into hard plastic cubes; it towered over the crib. When I saw the pictures, I felt like I had been punched. Every time I pick up Ian, I will be reminded that he’s not my son and his father’s pictures will be what he sees every morning he wakes up. But I have Melanie; Troy doesn’t. Two and half months later, Melanie has two weeks until she’s due to give birth, and it’s Wednesday afternoon when I get a call from The Tooele County Jail in Utah. I look at the number, confused. “Hello?” “Jeff, it’s me.” Oh my god, it’s Grant. “Grant?” “Yeah, it’s me. I’m in jail. Surprise.” “What? How?” I’m reeling. My happy future has just been destroyed. “I was arrested when my aunt told the cops I was drugging her – even after I saved her life. Then, a week later, she told them I killed Troy.” I sat there, stunned. I felt sick. “Sorry, Jeff, but I’m not going down alone. This wasn’t supposed to happen, but my bitchy aunt knows everything. She overheard me and my buddies talking about Troy. After you left the cabin, I called a buddy who owed me a favor. He has a 4-seater plane, and I told him some BS story about needing medical supplies to Utah. He knew I was in medical school but didn’t know I dropped out, so I told him I was a doctor and was working for   and asked if he could fly these supplies to the small airport in Provo, UT, where my team would come pick them up and drive them down to the border where I would meet them in a few days.” I’m trying to focus, but all I can think about is that he will betray me. “Anyway, I stuffed him into a large duffle bag filled with medical supplies. Damn, he was heavy. I got him to Utah, and everything went as planned. My buddies stayed in my family cabin up Big Cottonwood Canyon in Salt Lake. When Troy’s body got to Provo, a few picked him up. They took him back to the cabin, and they all stayed until the next night. The day after, they all drove down from the cabin to Grantsville, about an hour and a half away, taking him to his ex’s and dumping him.” It seems complicated, but Grant's speech sounds like he’s reading from a script. I have to be careful what I say next. “So, why are you calling me? Am I your one phone call or something?” Silence “Look, the jig is up; they know.” “Know what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Jeff, it’s over. They know what you did.” “Did what? Grant, I’m not sure what you’re jabbing on about, but it has nothing to do with me.” They can’t trace the money I paid. I transferred $70,000 over several days to the overseas account and then sent the cash to Grant for him to distribute to each person. There is no wire transfer. Plus, I didn’t kill Troy, he did. I hear a long sigh, some rustling in the background, and someone else whispering. He’s trying to get me to confess; the feds are recording us. “I told you that if you called one day, it would be from jail. After all, you drugged your aunt. It was bound to catch up with you. I mean, who does that?” “Jeff, they know you paid us money to kill Troy and dump him in his ex-wife’s yard.” “What! I did no such thing! How could you even think that?” And then I said something I thought I never would. “Grant, you’re off your meds, aren’t you?” I knew he took medication for anxiety and depression. “Listen, dude. I know it’s been rough since you lost custody of your kids, and your gambling addiction caused you to be way in debt, and now your aunt is finally getting her life back after being drugged by you, but don’t put me in the middle of your sad life.” “Jeff, knock off this shit! You went to the cabin where Troy was and begged me to be your backup while you were just going to tell him about Melanie’s secret and pay him off to leave her. You two fought and you told him to leave. He fell on your cabin steps and cut his head. I went to the store and got medical supplies and a bottle of pesticides that you agreed to and gave it to him after you left the cabin. Good God, man, I have your text messages!” I start panicking. Shit, I forgot to tell him to delete all our messages. I quickly scan through them to see if any mention Troy specifically, and none do. Every time Grant texted me, I never texted back. I called him. I could make up any excuse about why he or I called, but he has nothing in the text messages to implicate me. I deleted every conversation from my phone. I also told him to delete all our phone conversations. “What text messages, Grant?” I don’t see anything from you. On the phone, we’ve talked a few times over the last couple of months when I told you Melanie was pregnant with our son, and you congratulated me, but nothing about this Troy person.” I knew he shouldn’t have killed Troy, but he did it anyway. He was so hard up for money that he was willing to risk it all for $20,000. I hear whispers again. “You bastard. I know what you did. This isn’t over.”  I breathe out a sigh of relief. I can’t believe I improvised the whole conversation. Grant has nothing on me, and neither does the police. They may pick up my fingerprints at the cabin, but it’s MY cabin. I was there a few times throughout the year. The question would be why Troy was at my cabin to begin with. And Grant already owes loan sharks, so he could have killed him for the money to pay them off. Maybe whoever “hired him” was anonymous. The police could chalk it up to Grant being paid off by them, but to keep it a secret, he framed me. I already have my alibi, and I left before Grant killed Troy. If push comes to shove, I can always tell police that I headed up to the cabin since I was alone for the week, saw an unknown vehicle, and was assaulted by a man. In self-defense, I killed him. When I returned from the forest to call the police, my car wouldn’t start, and I couldn’t get cell reception. I called my good buddy, Grant, to come and help me. Or I came and saw him at the cabin, and he was hurt, so I called Grant to come. When I left to get supplies and came back, they were gone. I didn’t use to be a good liar, but I am now. And the only one who knows anything is his aunt, who doesn’t know me. Plus, he’s the one who’s been trying to kill her. Why wouldn’t he be guilty of killing Troy? Oh, and Grant never liked Melanie, so he could stick it to her in killing her lover. I stop because I could think up means, motives, and opportunities all day, but I can’t. Melanie has a doctor’s appointment in an hour to see if Ian is ready to be born into this world. And I can’t wait.

Many varieties of bulbs pop up in spring, summer, or fall. What I love about them is that you bury them deep with some bulb fertilizer, water them well, and then fo' get about it! Here are some examples of bulbs, when to plant them, and how. 🌷 Tulips are a spring favorite and one of the first bulbs to come up in spring, like daffodils. These two powerhouse bulbs come in so many different sizes and colors that it can be hard to choose which ones to plant. The best time to plant them is fall and when temps are below 45. Bulbs need at least 10-12 weeks of cold to set them up for spring blossoms. I usually plant them in November in my area, and they pop up in March or early April. To plant them, ensure you dig a hole deep enough to cover (6-8") and place the tip up. Sprinkle some bulb fertilizer in the hole before planting, and then water well for the first week. TIP: To ensure tulips and daffodils come up every spring, leave the leaves alone and let them yellow before pulling them out. Even though the flowers fade, the leaves still need the sun to store up energy for the next year's blooms. 💮 Dahlias are a top favorite bulb in my garden. They, too, come in different shapes, sizes, and colors. The only difference is that in colder zones, such as 6, 7, 8, and 9, you need to pull them up in fall and store them over the winter as they are not winter hardy. Dahlias can be planted in spring since they don't usually blossom until summer. Late May is great, and they will flower all the way into fall. Just be sure to dig them up before the first frost. 👩‍🌾 Allium, or ornamental onion, is another great bulb to plant in the fall for a late spring or early summer boomtime. These tall pop poms come in various colors and sizes but look like puff balls. They do great in between late flowering daffs and tulips or even crocus. They usually are the last of the spring bulbs to pop, so when all other bulbs have faded, these put on a beautiful show. 👨‍🌾 Crocus make perfect spring companions to tulips when planted in fall. Since they are typically short, they do well as border bulbs in the garden. They are about 4-6" tall but open up and spread their petals when the sun shines. When cloudy, they close up, the same as tulips. These are just a sampling of bulbs you can plant in the spring or fall. Iris is another spring flowering bulb that makes for a gorgeous display and, when in bloom, creates quite the landscape of gorgeous colors when it's desperately needed. Follow me on IG @hotmamagardener for all my plant pics, and check out my blog @  jewelswrites.blogspot.com , where I have my resume (looking for a digital marketing position) and more. Happy gardening!! #plantingbulbs #planting #springplanting #fallplanting #springgarden #summergarden #fallgarden #bulbs #floweringbulbs #gardentips #gardeningtips #gardens

I feel sick, and my appetite just died, but I can’t let Melanie know. She’s pregnant with another man’s baby and yet has two kids with me. Troy is no longer around, so what does that mean? Will she break down and leave forever? She’s told me before that she can live independently, but with a baby and her work schedule, I seriously doubt it. Melanie comes into the kitchen with fresh lipstick and gloss, a fresh coat of mascara, and her long auburn hair brushed. She’s now wearing a pair of dark blue jeans that shows off her toned legs and a plunging ruffled floral blouse. She’s a gorgeous woman. Have I told her that lately? “You clean up nice,” I say, grabbing my keys. “Thank you.” Her eyebrows knitted into a confusing smile. Part of me wants to strangle her for getting pregnant with Troy’s baby when she told me she was done at two. I wanted at least one more. I guess she didn’t want any more kids with  “Drive through or dine in?” I ask, pulling out of the driveway. “Let’s go to Rod’s Diner. I have a hankering for a big cheeseburger and beer-battered fries,” she says, the excitement showing on her face. “Sounds good.” I guess she’s not too worried about Troy right now. We arrive at the café, and it’s not too busy. On the weekends, it’s usually packed. I find a parking spot and pull in. Big Block Red Letters light up and spell out  ; the O no longer lights up, but no one seems to care. The Diner looks like it came straight out of the 50s. We get out and head into the café; a hostess that I swear looks like Flo, the gum-smacking, red-haired waitress from  on the early 80s TV show,   escorts us to a small booth in the corner. I remember my parents watching that show every week, and I can't help but smile. Rod’s has been in this area for over 20 years and reminds me of   in Grantsville. In fact, it’s almost a carbon copy, right down to the red and white jukebox and the same-colored checkered flooring.    The hostess gives us menus, and I open it up but know what I’m getting. We haven’t been here as a couple for years. We took the kids until about a year ago. It’s nice that it’s just the two of us now. “Did you have a good trip?” I say, wanting to make casual conversation. “It was OK, but I’m exhausted.” I want to blurt out that she’s pregnant, that’s why, but I hold my tongue. “My client is teetering on canceling their account. I had to go and basically wine and dine them to get them to stay. It gets tiring sometimes.” She yawns and then picks up that damn phone. “I’m sure. I would hate to have to travel all over.” “I love traveling.” The stern voice is back. I never know what to say. “I didn’t say you didn’t, but it has to be exhausting traveling all over the country for work, is all.” Her face softens. “Oh, yeah, it does.” I then notice a faraway look in her eyes, and I can tell she’s thinking about  “What did you do all weekend,” she says. I suddenly panic, thinking about my alibi. “On Saturday, I went into the city with my buddy from Grantsville, Grant; remember him?” A seething look comes over her. “Yes. He’s that jackass that didn’t want you to marry me.” I’m surprised she remembers that since it was ten years ago, and she’s only seen him a few times since then. “Yeah, well, he was in town, so we spent the day off-roading. Oh, and Sunday, I went to  and picked up a bunch of plants. I spent the day in the yard planting. Monday, I went to work, of course, and then drove the kids up to summer camp, so not a very eventful weekend. You probably had a more fun time than I did.” She shrugs and then takes a sip of her strawberry lemonade. Melanie doesn’t drink, and for good reason. (other than being pregnant) Her older brother was killed by a drunk driver when he was 16. She was 14 and swore off alcohol afterward. She has one younger sister, Alisha, and her parents still live in Texas after moving there from New York twenty years ago. Melanie moved back to New York City to attend college and stayed there until I met her; bumping into her is more like it, at the park. I was running and rounded the corner in Central Park and ran smack dab into her while she was bending over and tying her shoes. She fell forward and hit the pavement face down. I felt horrible and remembered helping her up, looking into her emerald green eyes, and was smitten. She had some scratches and a small bump on her forehead, but otherwise said she was OK. She had the most striking red hair I'd ever seen, which made her eyes glisten in the sun. I got her number and took her out to dinner. And, well, as they say … the rest is history. We both order the same thing: a double cheeseburger, beer-battered fries, and a chocolate milkshake with whipped topping (the real stuff) and a cherry on top. If this was 70 years earlier, we could be my grandparents. I try talking to her while we’re eating, but she keeps looking at her phone, no doubt waiting for Troy to text or call or the police to call. My heart pricks for her, knowing the father of her baby is dead, and it’s my fault. We finish and head home, both in silence. As we walk in the door, Melanie’s ringtone goes off. She grabs it from her purse and pushes the phone icon. “This is Melanie.” I wish I knew who was on the call. “What?” I hear her almost yell into the phone. “He’s not there? What do you mean his Range Rover is, but he’s not?” Oh shit, we didn’t dispose of his Rover! Okay, calm down, Jeff. They could think he drowned. “You looked everywhere, and he’s not there?” I listen for more. “Could he have accidentally drowned or maybe been kidnapped?” Even to me, it seems ludicrous. He was the only one there, well, until me and Grant arrived. But Melanie and the police don’t know about that. And he’s a grown adult, so unless he committed suicide by drowning, that scenario isn’t plausible either, especially since he would be a father again. “No, I only knew he was coming back to Long Island on Monday morning and would text me as soon as he reached the city. It’s Tuesday night, and I haven’t heard from him.” She listens, as do I. “No, of course not! He has no reason to just vanish like this.” I try to do something while I still listen to Melanie. I grab the sponge and start wiping off counters to keep myself busy. “Okay, call me when you know anything.” She puts her phone down on the counter, the one I just wiped. “They can’t find Troy.” Yes, I know. “His truck is there, but he’s gone, like … vanished. It’s not like him to take off, and no one has seen or heard from him in this long.” Tears fill her eyes, and I feel my heart drop. Even though he’s her lover, I feel guilty for what I did, well, what Grand did, and I allowed. I put my hand on her shoulder, and she folds into me, her body pressed against mine, her fragrant perfume filling my nostrils. “I’m sorry, Mel.” I haven’t called her that in years. But I am truly sorry. I hated the man for what he did to my family, but he didn’t deserve to die. Why did I let Grant kill him? This will eat at me for the rest of my life, probably like Melanie when she killed the cable technician. We now have something in common. We both are responsible for killing a man. __________________________________________________________________ It’s 5:30 a.m., and I bolt awake when my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Grant. Troy’s body has been dumped, and he and his friends want their fee. They flew to New York and rented a car to drive him back. I have to figure out how to wire each $30,000 without giving them my card number. I figure it will have to be done by cashier’s check. I text them to give me 24 hours to wire the money. It’s over. I look over at Melanie, her back to me, breathing softly. I carefully get out of bed and rake my fingers through my hair. I look through the window. It’s still dark, but I notice a sliver of dawn creeping into the night sky. Now, it’s a matter of when Deanna will find Troy’s body and whether she has an alibi for last weekend. Damn, I feel like a son-of-a-bitch. For the next several days, Melanie went back and forth with the police. She’d been at the station several times already and went up to the cabin to look for Troy. When a week went by and no word from him, Melanie told me he either drowned or maybe hurt himself in the woods and tried to get back to the cabin but got lost. I hate seeing her this way. A month later, Melanie resigned herself to believe she would never see Troy again and became even more distant than before. However, she told me about the baby when she started showing. We argued, and I told her I was hurt. A month after that, I was watching TV when my phone buzzed. SHE FOUND HIM I knew immediately what it meant. An hour later, I get a call from Melanie. She’s sobbing. “Jeff, Troy’s wife, found him buried in her front yard a week ago. This morning, it was confirmed to be him.” “In  ?” I say, stunned. I’m such a good actor.  “Yeah. His wife was digging in her flower garden and saw his h-hand. The police came, and the medical examiner thought he’d been dead for almost two months – the same time he went missing at the cabin.” “Oh, I’m sorry, Mel. But Utah? How, why? It doesn’t make any sense.” And I’m right, it doesn’t. “I don’t know, but I knew he was dead. And I can’t fly out for the funeral.” She hangs up, and I feel like shit all over again. But I have a second chance.

I text Grant back and say I’ll call him when I get in my office. I feel a surge of relief. It’s done. Troy is headed to Utah to be buried in his ex's front yard. I get back on the road to head for 11 Wall Street and 18th Broadway, and the skies have darkened. I hear thunder booming in the distance. When I pull into the underground parking of the New York Stock Exchange , the rain begins pelting the ground. I walk into the building and to the trading floor, but before I can focus on anything else, I have to contact Grant, so I quickly walk to the bathroom. I have to make it quick. Inside, the marbled counters are clean, with gold faucets and the white tile glistens. I check under all the stalls just like they do in the movies, but I see and hear nothing, so I quickly punch in Grant’s number. “Hey,” he says. “So, give me the rundown.” “A couple of friends came Saturday night and picked up the body. They should arrive in Grantsville tomorrow night. They’ll dump him and then bury him. It will no longer be our problem any longer.” Yeah, it will be Deanna’s, and I know she doesn’t deserve this, but I don’t know any other way. But she may still get off because there isn’t evidence of the exact date he was dumped. Since there will be no other leads, they will investigate his acquaintances and friends. They may even suspect Melanie. I already have an airtight alibi for the weekend – Friday, I stayed at home with the kids; Saturday, I went into the city and met my friend (Grant), and went off-roading. I went Sunday to East End Trees and went home and planted all day. On Monday, I took the kids to summer camp. Since medical examiners won’t have an exact day and time of his death, I have four days covered. “I’ll let you know when it’s final.” I push end on the phone and leave the bathroom. I head to my station and start work to keep myself from thinking about it for another day or so. I stay longer to make up the morning not being there, and then my phone rings around 7:30, and it’s Wyndham Summer Camp. My heart starts racing. They only call if it’s an emergency. “This is Jeff,” I say, my voice shaky, “Hi, Mr. Patterson; this is Sylvia, the Wyndham’s director.” “Yes …” “Kiersten fell off a log coming across the river and landed pretty hard. We’re at the hospital, and it looks like she broke her arm, but the X-rays haven’t come back yet.” She gave me the address, which is about 20 minutes away. Here, she wants to talk to you.” I hear my sweet daughter’s voice, but she doesn’t act hurt. “Hi, dad,” she says almost cheerfully. “Hey, you OK?” “Yeah, just fell and hurt my arm.” “Ouch. I’m on my way.” “It’s OK. I really want to stay, please.” I ask to speak to Sylvia again and get her opinion. “Well, if it’s broken, they will cast it, but I suppose she could still stay. She just needs to be careful not to get it wet.” I give her the OK, and she says she’ll text me once they get the X-rays back. I get back to Kirsten and tell her I love her and to be careful. She seems so happy that I’m letting her stay at camp. I can breathe, too, knowing nothing serious happened. About ten minutes later, I get good news. The arm isn’t broken, just sprained. I stay at work for a while longer and then head home. It’s been a long day, and I want to crash on the couch with a cold Coors and maybe put on Netflix. It will just be me – again. ___________________________________________________________________ I’m up and ready for work by 8:30 on Tuesday morning. I have to get there on time today, as I’ve already taken a week off and came in late yesterday. It’s already a day past when Troy should be home. Melanie will be wondering why she can’t get a hold of him, and in a few days or sooner, she will know he’s no longer at the cabin, and the search will commence. Sometime tonight, his body will be in Grantsville. My life has completely changed within one week, and so has Melanie’s. I would love to see her face when she finds out the love of her life is gone. Will she understand what it feels like to lose someone and her family? After working the day, I arrive home and walk into the house through the garage, which opens into our kitchen. I hear Melanie on her phone in the living room, her voice frantic. “I haven’t been able to reach him for two days!” I smile – just slightly. I know I shouldn’t, but I enjoy listening to her freaking out. And it’s only been about 30 hours, not two days. “Okay. Yes, he was at our cabin the last time I talked to him. He would be there for the weekend and then head back to Long Island.” She then gives the officer the address to the cabin. My smile fades. Our cabin? No, it’s my cabin. “Alright, thank you, officer. Please let me know.” I open the fridge door and grab a beer, feigning surprise when she enters the kitchen. “You’re home,” I say. “Yes.” She plants her hands on her hips. “I can’t get a hold of Troy.” “Oh?” Again, I act surprised. She was going to leave me for him, but they were in the middle of working out the living situation since Troy lives in Utah and she is in New York. Now, there’s no reason for her to leave. “He went to the cabin for the weekend and … don’t look at me that way,” she says when I act shocked. “No one goes there anymore. He needed some time away, so I gave him permission to go. Anyway, he was supposed to be back yesterday morning.” “It’s my cabin, Melanie, not yours. It’s been in my family since the 80s. But why am I even surprised since you don’t care about your family anymore.” I then tell her about Kirsten. “She sprained her arm and is still at summer camp?” Her voice rises higher. “Yes. It’s not broken, and she needs to be careful, but other than that, she’s fine.” “Why didn’t you call me?” “Because it wasn’t a big deal. And isn’t it interesting that the camp called me, not you? You were in Florida. Were you going to rush home?” Melanie opens her mouth and then shuts it again. “Yeah, didn’t think so.” I rifle through the pantry, trying to figure out what to eat since it’s past 6:00 p.m., and I’m starved. I barely got coffee and a donut this morning. I feel a headache coming on, and I know it’s because I haven’t eaten all day. “I’m hungry, so I’m going to grab a burger. Are you hungry?” I don’t know why I care, but I do. “Yes. C-can I come with?” “Sure,” I say. At least she’s not ignoring me. Maybe I can get the old Melanie back, the one I fell for over a decade ago. “And maybe Troy decided to stay a little longer at the cabin and will be back tomorrow,” I add. I have to placate her for tonight. “Yeah, maybe. Let me grab my purse and do something with my hair; it’s a mess,” she says. When she leaves the kitchen, I notice she leaves her phone on the counter. I quickly pick it up and put in her password. She gave it to me long ago, “just in case,” she said. I hear her go upstairs and know I have a few minutes. I scroll through her messages to Troy. MELANIE: I CAN’T WAIT FOR YOU TO COME BACK I MISS YOU TROY: DITTO MELANIE: IT’S TIME TO TELL HIM TROY: I KNOW. LET’S DO IT WHEN YOU GET BACK FROM FLORIDA MELANIE: REALLY? OKAY. I’M NOT SHOWING YET, BUT I WENT TO THE DOCTOR LAST WEEK AND THEY DID AN ULTRASOUND.  CAN’T WAIT TO HAVE YOUR BABY BOY! I throw the phone down and stare at it. She’s having HIS son? The world is spinning, and I must sit down before passing out. I just had her unborn son’s father killed. My plans to save our family just vanished.