After I dropped my wife off at the airport for her wellness retreat, my twelve-year-old granddaughter whispered, “Grandpa… We can’t go home. I heard grandma talking about money and making it look natural.” so we hid. Twenty minutes later, I froze… When I discovered…

That night in bed, I stared at the ceiling while Margaret breathed beside me. The warmth of her body used to mean comfort. Now it meant proximity to someone who wanted me dead.

Around 2:00 a.m., she slipped out of bed.

I kept my eyes half-closed, listening.

She padded downstairs. The hallway camera caught her moving like someone who’d done this before.

I heard her voice in the study, hushed. The microphones caught everything.

“It’s almost done,” Margaret whispered.

Dr. Prescott’s voice responded faintly through the speakerphone. “How weak is he?”

“He can barely get out of bed,” Margaret said, and there was excitement in her whisper. “I’m doubling the dose tonight.”

“And if he doesn’t go?” Prescott asked.

“Then I give him more tomorrow,” Margaret replied, calm and cold. “By Monday I’ll be a widow and we’ll be rich.”

She laughed.

That laugh sounded exactly like Sophie had described: horrible, young with cruelty, like something inside Margaret had finally stopped pretending to be human.

In the van, Marcus was listening. Detective Morrison was listening. Police cars were staged down the street.

At dawn, they moved.