Chapter 12:

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 Richard managed to keep the department off my back for twenty-four hours, claiming I was suffering from severe delayed trauma due to the nature of the child's body in the prologue. But I wasn't resting. Late that night, under the dim lights of the records room, Richard and I sat side-by-side, surrounded by old files. We were looking at the official report from the fire six years ago. "Look at this," I pointed a trembling finger at the autopsy page. "The body found in the master bedroom was charred beyond recognition. The identification was made purely because his wedding ring was found near the pelvis, and a piece of dental fabric matched an old record. But look at the femur length recorded by the coroner." Richard leaned in close. His shoulder brushed against mine, sending a jolt of nervous energy through my spine. He smelled like rain and coffee. I felt a deep, aching pull toward him, but the phantom image of my husband's smiling face flashed in my mind, choking me with guilt. How could I even think about another man right now? Richard noticed me stiffening and subtly moved an inch away, giving me space. He focused on the paper. "The femur length... It's too short. Your husband was six-foot-two. This measurement belongs to someone closer to five-foot-ten." The truth hit us like a tidal wave, cutting through the confusion that had paralyzed me for days. "The fire wasn't an accident," I whispered, the pieces finally clicking together with horrifying clarity. "He faked it. Richard... he faked his death in that house. But why? Why leave the ring? Why burn it down while I was supposed to be there?" Richard looked at me, his dark eyes filled with a painful realization. "Alyce... think about the timeline. He called you to the kitchen right before you left. He insisted you stay for dinner. But you had to leave for work and stop for gas. If you hadn't left early..." "I would have been asleep in that bedroom," I choked out. The room felt entirely devoid of oxygen. "The fire started in the master bedroom. He didn't just fake his death to run away... His plan was to kill me and our unborn baby girl in the fire back then. It didn't work because I left early, so he had to fake his death in that same fire anyway and disappear." He wanted us dead. And now, the paper trail left by his fake identity was pointing directly to a new location: a shipping network operating out of another city, hundreds of miles away in Boston.