My Mil Called Screaming That My Husband Was Dying Of Internal Bleeding. I Rushed Home From A Business Trip To Find Him Getting Married To His Ex. How Do I Destroy Them Without Getting My Hands Dirty?
The Secret Behind the Door
I stood before my mother-in-law’s house with a hammering heart, intending to check on my husband who was supposedly sick. But before I could even knock, my sister-in-law suddenly blocked my path. Her face was pale, her hands trembling as she whispered frantically for me to go to the back door and keep my arrival a secret.
“This is for your own safety,” she said.
I didn’t have a chance to ask why before my eyes caught something inside the house. In that instant, my breath caught in my throat, my knees went weak, and I realized my arrival was no coincidence. A great secret was waiting for me, and from that moment on, my life would never be the same again.A Distressing Call
The blue light from the still-active laptop screen contrasted sharply with the darkness of the hotel room on the 12th floor. Amara Reed let out a long sigh, adjusting the glasses that had started to slide down the bridge of her nose. The hands on the wall clock showed 11:15 p.m..
As a marketing manager for a rapidly growing tech startup, business trips like this were a regular part of her life. Amara glanced at the large mirror in the corner of the room. She was still in her full work attire: a dusty rose-colored modest tunic paired with wide-legged black trousers. The matching pashmina scarf was still neatly pinned, though she felt the urgent need to remove it to feel the cool breeze from the air conditioner on her scalp.
But before her fingers could touch the pin under her chin, the phone on the nightstand vibrated violently. The vibration felt demanding, as if carrying news that couldn’t be delayed for a single second. Her mother-in-law’s name flashed on the screen. Amara’s heart sank; Eleanor rarely called this late unless something extraordinary had happened.
“Hello, Eleanor?” Amara’s voice was.
“Amara, where are you? How dare you leave your husband all alone!” The voice on the other end exploded immediately, shrieking with a high-pitched tone full of accusation.
“Eleanor, please calm down. What’s wrong with Preston? I’m in Chicago for a work conference. I’ll be back tomorrow morning,” Amara replied.
“Tomorrow morning you say? By tomorrow morning your husband might be a corpse!” Eleanor’s dramatic sobs interrupted Amara’s explanation. “Preston collapsed, Amara! He was vomiting blood. His body went cold. He kept calling your name, but his wife was too busy chasing money in another city. Come home now or you’ll regret it for the rest of your life for being a wicked wife who abandoned her husband on his deathbed!”
The call was disconnected abruptly. Amara’s body trembled violently; all the joints in her legs felt weak in an instant. Horrible thoughts began to flood her mind. Preston, her husband, who for the past three months had often complained of dizziness and nausea, was now reportedly in critical condition.
Guilt pierced Amara’s chest like a thousand needles. She did feel guilty for being so busy lately, but she did it all to support the family finances because Preston’s contracting business was on its last legs.
The Race Home
Without a second thought, Amara grabbed her handbag. She didn’t even have time to change her clothes or remove the remnants of her fading makeup. She adjusted her hijab in the mirror, making sure no stray hairs were showing, even though her hands were shaking uncontrollably. She did a quick checkout and ran towards the parking garage.
Inside the car, Amara prayed continuously. The journey from Chicago to her mother-in-law’s house in a suburb outside Detroit, which usually took over four hours, felt like an eternity that night. She pushed her white sedan above the speed limit, ignoring the exhaustion that weighed on her eyelids.
Throughout the drive, tears streamed down Amara’s cheeks. She recalled their marriage, which had only lasted four years. Preston was a gentle man, though sometimes too obedient to his mother. Amara always tried to be a good daughter-in-law, giving Eleanor extra money each month and never arguing, even when she was often criticized for her busy work schedule. Now, the thought of losing Preston was driving her nearly insane.
Around 1:30 a.m., Amara entered the old subdivision where her mother-in-law lived. The streets were deserted; only a few streetlights flickered dimly. But something was odd as she approached the cul-de-sac where Eleanor’s house was located. Several cars were parked a short distance from the house, as if deliberately trying not to block the front.
Amara didn’t think much of it; her mind was focused on one thing: Preston. She parked her car haphazardly in front of the old iron gate of the house. However, the scene that greeted her was highly unusual for a home in mourning or experiencing a medical emergency.
The front of the house was pitch black; no porch light was on. There was no sound of crying, no ambulance, and the large oak front door was shut tight. There was only a dim light seeping from the gaps in the side windows, which were covered with thick curtains.
