My Stepfamily Moved In… Weeks Later, My Cat Was Dead

I thought grief had already taught me every kind of pain.

I was wrong.

Detective Harris sat across from us at the dining table.

"The remote is registered to Rachel's vehicle," he said. "We are reopening the collision file."

Dad stared at the wood grain. "How would Vanessa have it?"

"That's what we intend to find out."

He explained that the old case had been thin. Bad weather. No clear witnesses. A damaged guardrail. One unidentified vehicle believed to have left the scene.

Then he slid a copied page across the table.

"This was in the metal box."

It was an old appointment calendar from my mother's clinic.

Vanessa's name appeared three times during the week before the crash.

Beside the final entry my mother had written:

Told her this has to stop. She threatened me again.

Dad covered his face.

"Rachel never told me."

"Maybe she tried," I said.

The torn letter in the shed suddenly felt heavier than paper.

Caleb sat at the far end of the room. "My mom said her first husband ruined her life."

Harris looked at him. "Your father?"

"Yeah. She said he left because of another woman."

"Was that Rachel?"

Caleb shook his head quickly. "No. I don't think so. But she hated women she thought had easier lives. She used to say people like Rachel got rewarded for being weak."

Dad stood abruptly and walked to the window.

Outside, rain had started again.

Just like the night I found May.

Just like the night my mother died.

My phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

I opened the message.

You should have buried the cat and let the dead stay dead.

A second message arrived before I could breathe.

You are digging up a grave that was never meant for you.

Harris took the phone from my hand.

"Do not respond."