The officer’s expression turned serious. Three days felt like three lifetimes. I barely ate. Barely slept. Every time my phone rang, my heart stopped. Then on the third day, a detective knocked on my door. His face was grim. “Mrs. Carter,” he said quietly, “we found your husband’s vehicle.” My breath caught. “Where?” He hesitated. “Submerged… off the coast. Near Harbor Point.”
The world tilted. I couldn’t hear anything but the pounding of my heart. “They’re… they’re inside?” I whispered. The detective’s jaw tightened. “We recovered the car this morning.” I grabbed the doorframe for support. “What did you find?” He looked at me, voice low. “The police report is… unusual.”
My throat went dry. “Inside the car was…” The detective didn’t finish his sentence at my doorstep. Instead, he asked me to sit down. That alone terrified me more than anything else.
Inside my living room, Detective Marcus Hale placed a folder on the coffee table. His hands were steady, but his eyes carried something heavy. “Mrs. Carter,” he began carefully, “the car was found about thirty feet offshore. It appears to have gone off the road late at night.” I nodded numbly, barely breathing.
“Were they… inside?” I forced out. Marcus paused. “Yes. Your husband was in the driver’s seat.” A sharp pain shot through my chest. “And Emily?” He hesitated again, and my blood turned cold. “Emily was not in the car.”
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