I Faked An Injury To Escape My Abusive Billionaire Husband. But The Er Doctor Just Revealed A Dark Secret About My Husband’s First Wife. How Do I Go Back To That House Now?

The Bathroom Confession

The night in this luxurious house stretched on endlessly as if the clock on the wall had gone on strike, bored of witnessing our domestic drama. At 2:00 in the morning the house was silent.

Beside me Preston slept on his back his mouth slightly open letting out a soft irritating snore. That snore which used to keep me awake and make me want to stuff a sock in his nose now sounded like the theme music for my secret mission. It was a sign that the living breathing CCTV camera in this house was temporarily offline,.

This was a golden opportunity, one I couldn’t afford to waste. With movements slower than a snail with a backache I slipped out from under the heavy comforter. Every tiny creak of the mattress made my heart feel like it was going to burst through my throat.

I glanced at Preston. He shifted slightly, mumbled something about stocks or money, and then fell still again. Safe. I got out of bed, my feet landing silently on the thick carpet.

I didn’t dare turn on a light. Guided by the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains I fumbled my way to the bedside drawer. Inside was an old tablet computer long unused because Preston claimed the screen wasn’t sharp enough.

Junk in his eyes but a treasure trove for me tonight. I took the device into the bathroom, the only place in the house with a lock on the inside. I sat on the toilet lid, my hands shaking violently as I tried to turn it on.

The battery was critically low, the icon a menacing red just like my current situation, just enough for one last ditch effort. I reached into my pajama pocket and pulled out the two small items I had been guarding more closely than diamonds: The memory card from Dr. Miles and the one I found in the vanity,.

With fingers slick with cold sweat I inserted Rebecca’s memory card first. The screen flickered then displayed a single folder with a chilling name: “Do not open”. A classic name for a panicked person.

I tapped the folder. Inside was a single audio file. The date was from 5 years ago, the same day Rebecca died. My hand trembled as I pressed play.

Static crackled first then Preston’s booming voice filled the small room even though I had turned the volume down as low as it would go.

“You think you can hide that money from me? I know you sent it to your brother.”

“That broke doctor?” Then Rebecca’s sobbing voice replied. “That was my inheritance Preston. It wasn’t your money.”

The argument escalated. There was the sound of something shattering, the sharp crack of a slap, then a brief silence followed by a loud heavy thud like a body hitting the floor. Then Preston’s ragged gasping breaths.

“Rebecca, wake up. Damn it. Don’t die on me now. Ugh. Whatever. I’ll just say she slipped.”

The recording ended. I covered my mouth stifling a sob that threatened to erupt. He was insane, utterly insane. He killed his wife over an inheritance and then coolly fabricated an alibi in the same moment she was dying.

Caught in the Act

I quickly ejected Rebecca’s card and replaced it with the tracking card from Dr. Miles. The tracking app activated instantly. A map of the house appeared on the screen with a blinking red dot. I saw an option: “Send Data”.

Without a second thought I copied Rebecca’s audio file to the device’s memory and tried to send it to Dr. Miles’s system. The home’s Wi-Fi signal was thankfully strong. The one positive thing about Preston’s luxury amenities. The upload bar moved slowly. 10%… 30%…

Come on hurry up. Suddenly the bathroom doorknob jiggled from the outside.

Click. Click.

It was locked. My heart stopped.

“Ellie are you in there?” Preston’s voice was hoarse with sleep but laced with suspicion.

“Yes Preston. My stomach hurts,” I stammered trying to sound natural while clutching the tablet with trembling hands.

The upload was only at 50%. This is taking forever.

“Open the door. I have to use the bathroom,” Preston commanded, his tone growing impatient.

My mind raced. If I opened it now he’d see the tablet. If I didn’t he’d break the door down. He hated waiting.

“Just a second Preston, I’m not done yet,” I called out, my eyes glued to the screen. 70%… 80%…

“Ellie open this door right now or I’m breaking it down!” Preston bellowed, hammering on the door.

The patience of a narcissist is as thin as wet toilet paper. 90%… 100%. “Upload Complete.” The green text flashed on the screen.

Success. Dr. Miles had the recording. I quickly shut off the screen, shoved both memory cards back into my pocket, and hid the tablet under a stack of clean towels on a shelf. I flushed the toilet for sound effect then unlocked the door with a shaking hand.

Preston stood there his face sour, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. He didn’t go to the toilet. Instead he just stared at me scanning me from head to toe.

“What were you doing in there? Why are you sweating?” he interrogated.

“I told you my stomach hurts. I probably have a bug,” I said clutching my stomach in an Oscar-worthy performance.

Preston grunted and pushed me aside. He entered the bathroom but instead of heading for the toilet his eyes swept the room. His predator instincts were firing.

He sensed something was wrong. His eyes scanned the soap dish, the sink, and then stopped on the stack of towels where I had hidden the tablet. Damn it. A corner of the tablet’s case was peeking out from my hasty hiding job.

Preston strode towards the shelf, my breath caught in my throat. He yanked the towel away. The old tablet clattered to the floor. Preston looked at the device then at me. His face twisted into a horrifying mask not of an angry husband but of a murderer who had been caught.

He picked up the tablet and turned it on. The screen still showed Doctor Miles’s tracking app which I hadn’t had time to close. A map of our house was clearly displayed.

“What is this?” he hissed, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage.

He smashed the tablet on the marble floor until the screen shattered into a thousand pieces.

“You… You’re working with that doctor aren’t you?” he snarled, his voice rising to a shout.

He lunged forward backing me against the cold bathroom wall. “What did you send him? Answer me!” he screamed.

His right hand shot out clamping around my neck. I choked, the oxygen in my lungs cut off.

“Answer me! You want to destroy me huh? You ungrateful bitch. You want to end up like Rebecca? Yes?”

The confession slipped out of his own mouth. As my life hung in the balance, as his grip tightened, I thrashed. My legs kicked at the air. My eyes caught sight of something on the glass shelf behind Preston’s back: a can of his extra strong hold aerosol hairspray.

My left hand fumbled behind him.

“Let me go,” I wheezed.

“Never. You’re dying tonight,” Preston shrieked, his mind gone.