Chapter 1: The Interrogation Room

The cop’s voice was too calm. I stared at the scuffed table, wondering how it all collapsed so fast—my wife, her boss, the crash, the money. Now they think I killed her.

The fluorescent lights in the interrogation room buzzed overhead, making my head pound. There was a half-empty Dunkin’ coffee cup on the detective’s side of the table, and the stale smell of Lysol clung to the air. I rubbed my face, feeling the roughness from days without sleep, trying to ground myself in something real.

From the accident, her time in the hospital, me selling the car and house, her passing, and then the funeral—it all blurred together. It felt like I was sleepwalking, stumbling through a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.

I tried for a smile but it came out bitter. “We met last April—April 16th, actually. Blind date. Never thought I’d remember that forever.”

The detective raised an eyebrow. “You remember the date that well?”

“That’s my little girl’s birthday. Hard to forget a date like that.” My voice caught, memories thick in my throat.

He looked a little surprised, then smirked. “You’re young, college grad, working for the county—how’d you end up on a blind date?”

I shrugged. “I’m not from around here. Came for school, stayed for the job. Folks at the office, especially the older ladies, they all wanted to set me up.”

The detective grinned knowingly. “Yeah, those office aunties, they never quit.”

He leaned in. “So, when’d you two tie the knot?”

“July 5th last year.”

“So you married just over two months after meeting? That’s fast.”

I felt my jaw tighten, remembering those sleepless nights, counting days on the calendar, wondering if we were rushing into a mistake or just running out of time. “She was pregnant.”

“Shotgun wedding, huh?”

“Yeah. She was over two years older than me, already thirty. She worried about waiting too long to have kids. We talked it over, figured we’d get married anyway, so we just did it.”

“Did you really know her?”

The question stung. “She was smart, classy, kind—always thoughtful, polite, gentle with me. I… I’d never met anyone like her. Plus—”

I trailed off, cheeks burning. Talking about her hurt more than I thought it would. My fingers gripped the edge of the cold metal table, desperate for something solid.

The detective slid me a glass of water. “Plus what?”

“Her situation was good too.” The words tasted sour. “She had a great job, looked amazing, made more than me. It was a real partnership. Honestly, I benefited from her—my whole lifestyle leveled up.”

He flipped through his notes. “Your family’s not bad either. They bought you a house when you got married, right?”

“Yeah, my parents had money set aside for a house. We bought it after getting the license and put her on the deed. She didn’t want a dowry. My mom wanted a wedding back home, but she understood we’d just bought the place, so we put it off.”

“A two-bedroom here’s gotta be at least six hundred grand.”

I blushed. “Wasn’t all cash. We took a mortgage for over three hundred, used my housing fund.”

He nodded. “A family with that kind of cash isn’t average.”

“My parents run a small business. I’m not local, so finding someone here wasn’t easy.”

“Better than most folks.”

I bristled. “I didn’t want to settle just to get married. I know what I want.”

“So even though she was three years older, you still went for it.”

“Age wasn’t even a factor. She was the best woman I ever met. Marrying her was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me.”

The detective’s tone shifted, just enough to sting. My shoulders tensed, my jaw locked. I wanted to defend her, defend us, but I just clenched my fists under the table.

“Alright, alright, calm down.”

I took a deep breath, counting to five like my old therapist taught me. He started asking about my whereabouts during the accident. I answered everything, then finally asked, voice raw:

“Why do my in-laws think I’d murder my wife?”

He told me to sit and calm down, sliding the water glass closer. “Why’d you rush to sell the car and house after your wife’s accident?”