At the time, Emily had pretended not to hear the insult tucked inside the sentence.
Women like Diane knew how to make cruelty sound like manners.
They did not shout.
They adjusted a bracelet, lowered their voice, and left the knife where only you could feel it.
“Why?” Emily asked.
The word came out broken.
Detective Ward did not pretend to have a full answer.
“We are still investigating motive,” she said. “But Cole Whitaker says he was paid to scare Nathan. To force the car off the road. He claims he was told Nathan would be alone.”
Emily closed her eyes.
That detail was almost worse.
Not because it made Diane innocent.
Because it made her careless.
Nathan was her son.
Emily was his wife.
One dead.
One broken.
And someone had treated both outcomes like acceptable risk.
“Where is she?” Emily’s mother asked.
Detective Ward looked at her folder again.
