Chapter 2 - The Shadow in the Nursery**
I drove home on autopilot, the windshield wipers slicing rhythmically through the sheets of rain while Dr. Rivers’s cryptic words bounced around my skull. Be careful who you trust.
When I pulled into the driveway of our suburban home, the house looked dark and unwelcoming. Mark’s truck was still parked in the garage—a painful reminder that he would never drive it again. I unlocked the front door and stepped inside, letting out a heavy sigh as I kicked off my shoes.
“Sally? Is that you, sweetheart?”
The voice drifted down the hallway from the direction of the nursery. It was warm, melodic, and sickeningly familiar.
My mother-in-law, Eleanor, stepped out into the dim hallway. She was wearing a soft cashmere sweater, her silver hair perfectly coiffed despite the gloomy weather. Ever since Mark had received his terminal diagnosis six months ago, Eleanor had practically moved into our guest room, ostensibly to help care for him. But lately, her presence had begun to feel less like comfort and more like an occupation.
“You’re soaking wet,” Eleanor said, rushing forward with a fluffy towel, her eyes scanning me with an intensity that felt overly analytical. “Did you sign the papers? Is it done?”
“Yes, Eleanor. It’s done,” I said flatly, sidestepping her to place my purse and the precious envelope on the entryway console table.
Eleanor’s eyes darted toward the console table, lingering for a fraction of a second on the plain cream envelope before snapping back to my face. A flash of something cold and calculating crossed her features, gone so fast I almost thought I imagined it.
“Good. It’s what Mark would have wanted,” she said smoothly, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Though, honestly, Sally, giving away his organs feels a bit... macabre. He should have been left whole. Resting in peace.”
“It was his final wish,” I retorted, pulling away from her touch and heading toward the kitchen to pour a glass of water. My hands were shaking so badly I spilled half of it on the counter.
Eleanor followed me closely, hovering over my shoulder like a hawk. “You know, while you were at the hospital, I was going through Mark’s old desk in the study. Organizing his papers. It’s what widows do, dear. We tie up loose ends.”
My hand froze halfway to my mouth. A cold sweat broke out across my neck. Mark’s study had always been off-limits, even to her.
“You went through his desk?” I asked, turning to face her, my voice rising. “Without asking me?”
“Oh, don’t use that tone with me, Sally,” Eleanor scoffed, her mask of maternal sweetness slipping just enough to reveal the steely edge underneath. “Mark was my only son. I have a right to his belongings. Speaking of which, he had several life insurance policies, didn’t he? And the deed to this house... it was modified shortly before he passed, wasn’t it?”
The room seemed to tilt sideways. Life insurance policies? A modified deed? Mark had never mentioned any of that to me. We shared everything. Or at least, I thought we did.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Eleanor,” I lied, backing away toward the hallway.
“Of course you do,” Eleanor smiled, her eyes narrowing as she stepped toward me, blocking my path to the front door. “And sooner or later, you’re going to hand them over. Because a grieving, stressed-out mother carrying a baby in this economy? The courts would have a field day deciding who is truly fit to manage Mark’s estate.”
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My breath hitched. The threat was out in the open now, no longer hidden behind polite maternal concern. She wasn't just grieving her son; she was preparing to wage war against me and my unborn child for complete control of everything Mark left behind.
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