The highway seemed like a gray ribbon cutting through the beautiful, green tapestry of the landscape. It was a great day for a drive on Saturday, the kind of day that would be excellent for a car ad. The radio played a soft pop tune that my seven-year-old daughter, Emma, was gently humming along to from the backseat. The sunlight glinted off the bonnet of my automobile.
A half hour. That was all it took for my world to fall apart.
“Mom,” Emma began, her voice little and tight, piercing through the music. “The air conditioner smells funny.” It hurts my head.
I looked at the mirror that shows the back of the car. Emma was scratching her temples and her cheekbones, which are typically red, looked pale and waxy. My mother instinct, which is strong and sudden, sprung up in my chest. “A smell?” What do you mean, honey? Like gas? “
“No,” she said, laying her head against the cool glass of the window. “It smells bad. Like… chemicals. “Burned plastic.”
I smelled the air. There was something else under the smell of my vanilla automobile air freshener. Acrid. Made of metal. It felt like a dry cough in the back of my throat. I felt a chilly, sudden panic flood over me. I turned on the danger lights and swerved onto the gravel shoulder. The tires made a loud crunching noise as we came to a stop.
“Okay, sweetheart, let’s go.” “Now,” I said, shaking my hands as I unbuckled my seatbelt.
I took Emma out of the car and dragged her safely into the grass. The fresh air appeared to help, but she was still holding her head. I left her on the grass and walked back to the car. I opened the hood, and everything seemed okay with the engine. No smoke. There is no fire.
After then, I remembered the stench that was emanating from the vents. I moved to the passenger side, opened the glove box, and pulled out the panel that covered the air filter in the cabin.
The moment I pulled the filter tray out, I gasped, my palm shooting to my mouth to muffle a scream.
Nestled into the folds of the white filter paper were five small, translucent capsules attached with black electrical tape. They were pierced, and a clear liquid slowly leaked out of them. It quickly turned into vapor in the air. This was not a failure of the machine. This wasn’t a dead animal.
These were planted.
My knees gave out, and I leaned against the open car door. As I called 911, my phone felt like a heavy weight in my pocket. As the operator’s voice flooded my ear with a request for my emergency, one scary visage came to me.
My hubby, David.
Was this why he had been so distant? Was this how he was going to fix his sad marriage? As the sirens started to wail in the distance, I looked at the terrible thing in my hand and realized that the person sleeping next to me might be a monster.
You need to go back three weeks to realize how horrible that find on the side of the road was. Back to when my life looked like a picture in a magazine.
I worked from home as a freelance graphic designer, putting together a life that was beautiful in every way. My husband, David, was a brilliant architect—a guy who made structures designed to last, or so I believed. And then there was Emma. Our prize. She was the perfect child for any mother: smart, popular, and with a grin that could make a tyrant give up.
But the base of our house has hairline cracks.
David had changed. It all began when he was given the job of building a huge tower in the middle of town called the “Millennium Project.” He returned home later and later, smelling like old workplace coffee and secrets. When I questioned him about his day, he would give a terse, “Fine,” before going to his study and slamming the door.
Tuesday night was the breaking point. David was in the shower, and the water was so loud that it drowned out everything else. He got a notification on his smartphone, which was on the bedside table.
Amanda sent a new message: “We can meet again tomorrow.” Same spot.
My heart pounded against my ribs like a bird that was stuck. Amanda. The name tasted like vomit. I didn’t touch the phone because I didn’t need to read any more. The meaning was apparent enough to ruin my tranquility.
Christine was my lifeline throughout those crazy times.
Two years before, I had met Christine when her daughter Olivia moved to Emma’s school. We got along right away. Christine was the opposite of me—happy, loud, and always there for me. Emma was quite popular, but Olivia had a hard time. She was shy and awkward, and her mother was always around. But Christine never seemed to care.
When the ice age hit my marriage, Christine was the first person I phoned.
“Oh, Jennifer,” she said on the phone, her voice husky with pity. “Stress is probably all it is.” David cares about you. “Men can be weak, though.”
“I don’t know what to do,” I said as I walked around my living room. “The car is acting up, the house is tense, and I feel like I’m losing control.”
“Let me at least help with the car,” Christine said right away. “My husband Robert is a wizard with engines.” Remember, he’s a car mechanic? He’ll mend anything that’s incorrect for a small fee.
It appeared like a gift from God. On a sultry, humid July afternoon, my air conditioning finally broke down altogether, pushing hot, still air into my face. I remembered what Christine had said.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice full of relief. “That really helps.”
That night, Robert came to get the automobile. He was a quiet man who always wiped grease off his hands with a rag and hardly looked at me. He nodded and took the keys.
Robert brought the automobile back to my driveway the next day.
“I changed the air conditioning filter and flushed the system,” he said, looking down at his boots. “It should be fine now.”
“Thanks, Robert,” I murmured as I reached for the keys.
I could feel him shaking as our fingers touched. It wasn’t a gentle shaking; it was a strong tremor that went up his arm. I stared at his face. Even though it was a nice evening wind, he was sweating a lot. He looked scared.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“Fine,” he croaked, backing away toward Christine’s car, which was waiting for him at the curb. “Just drive carefully, Mrs. Jennifer.”
I saw him get inside the car. Christine was behind the wheel. She waved at me with a big, bright smile, which was very different from how scared her husband seemed.
I pushed aside the feeling of worry in my gut. I persuaded myself that it was all in my head. Christine is my best buddy. Her family is helping me out.
I didn’t know it then, but I had just given my killer the keys.
The mood in my house changed from frigid to icy two weeks after the car was fixed.
David was hardly there in his own home. Dinner hour, which used to be a time for talking, was now filled with the sound of cutlery clinking and heavy stillness. David simply grunted in response to Emma’s passionate talk about her art project. He was too busy looking at his phone to pay attention.
I walked by David’s study one night while I was up late working on a logo design. The door was open by an inch.
David’s voice muttered, “Got it,” in a low, anxious tone. “Let’s get together tomorrow.” You can choose where to go. Just be sure to do it.
Make sure it’s finished.
My hand got stuck on the doorframe. It sounded like a deal. A hit? A reward? Or plans to meet Amanda?
David left the house the next morning before the sun was fully up. I watched his taillights go into the morning fog, and a feeling of gloom came over me. I called Christine on the phone.
“Hey, Jennifer?” Christine’s voice was weary but awake. “It’s 6 AM,” she said.
I said, “He’s leaving early again,” and tears came to my eyes. “I heard him on the phone. He’s going to see someone. He responded, “Make sure it’s done.” Christine, I think… I fear he’s going to leave me.
“Oh, honey,” Christine said with a sigh. “That sounds… fishy. I didn’t want to say this, but maybe you should think about hiring a private investigator? Just to be sure? You need to protect yourself and Emma if he’s cheating.
“A private investigator?” “I thought about it for a while.” “That seems so extreme.”
“Is it?” Christine softly disagreed. “Or is it smart? “”
I didn’t hire one. I couldn’t bring myself to go that far yet. But the seed of doubt had grown into a whole forest of distrust.
A few days later, the second blow hit. The number for the school came up on my phone. Ms. Parker was Emma’s teacher in her homeroom.
“Mrs. Could you come in, Jennifer?” Her voice was tight. “We need to talk about how Emma is acting.”
I drove to school in a fog. Ms. Parker seemed hurt when I sat down in the small wooden chair across from her.
She started with, “This is hard. But Olivia has come to us. She says that Emma is picking on her.
The planet turned on its axis. “Emma? Bullying?” I laughed, and it was a piercing, disbelieving sound. “That’s not possible.” Every weekend, Emma asks Olivia to come over. She gives out her meal. You know my kid.
“I do,” Ms. Parker said, frowning. “It doesn’t match what I see in the classroom.” But Olivia was quite clear, even though her allegations don’t have any proof. She states that Emma says bad things when adults aren’t around. We need to look at every claim.
I was angry and confused when I quit school. Why would Olivia tell a lie?
When I got home, I told Emma to sit down. “Sweetheart, did something happen with Olivia?””
Tears filled Emma’s big, innocent eyes. “No, Mom! I didn’t do anything! Olivia’s mom informed her yesterday that I’m a “bad girl” because I steal everyone’s attention.
I stopped. What does her mom say?
Christine. My emotional anchor. My trusted friend. Why did she tell her daughter that Emma was bad?
That night, all I had was insomnia. The web of lies—David’s affair, the bullying claim, and Christine’s unusual behavior—felt like a noose getting tighter.
Christine called the next day.
“Hey! “You sound tired,” she said cheerfully. “Why not take Emma for a drive this weekend? “Head over to the lake house. Only the gals. It will be a wonderful way to see if that AC Robert fixed works, right? “Cool your head.”
I said, “A drive.” “Yeah.” You might be right. I had to leave David.
“Exactly,” Christine pushed. “Go tomorrow.” “Early.”
When I told David I was taking Emma for a ride, he stopped cutting up veggies and turned around, knife still in hand.
“No,” he responded in a harsh tone. “You shouldn’t go.” “Not now.”
“Why?” I snapped, my patience breaking. “Are you going to bring Amanda here?” Do you require the house to be empty? “
David’s face turned white. He opened his mouth, tried to find the right words, and then shut it tight. “Fine,” he said quietly as he turned back to the stove. “Be careful, Jennifer,” Please.
His eyes were full of complicated feelings—fear? Do you feel guilty? I couldn’t read him any longer. And I didn’t want to.
The next morning, we left. The air conditioning blew chilly, pleasant air on my face. Thirty minutes later, Emma said she could smell something, and I found the poison in my car.
“Is this the police?” “There’s… there’s something in my car.”
I sat on the grassy edge of the highway, holding Emma close to my chest. The sirens got louder, a deafening noise that signaled the end of my old life.
A police car screeched to a stop, and an ambulance followed quickly behind. Two officers came up, their hands on their belts.
“Ma’am, get away from the car,” one told her.
I choked out, “My daughter.” “Her head hurts.” The smoke…
There were a lot of paramedics around us. They put an oxygen mask over Emma’s face. One yelled to the other, “Possible chemical inhalation!” “Look for CO levels.”
Carbon monoxide. The killer who doesn’t say a word.
A smooth, black vehicle with no markings drove up behind the ambulance. A woman got out. She donned a beautiful blue suit and a badge on her belt. She moved with the elegance of a predator.
She said, “I’m Detective Lisa Morgan, Child Crimes and Special Investigations,” and her eyes moved around the room before settling on mine. “Are you Jennifer?”“
“Yes.”
“And the device?”
I pointed to “in the filter housing.”
Detective Morgan stepped over to the car, put on latex gloves, and looked inside. She lingered there for a long time before turning around and walking back. Her face was serious.
“That,” she continued in a low, menacing voice, “is a chemical reactor made at home.” It combines two chemicals to make a lot of carbon monoxide. “It’s caused by the AC’s airflow,” she said. She stared at me. “If you had driven another twenty miles with the windows up, you both would have fallen asleep and never woken up.”
The world turned. Killing. This was an effort to kill someone.
“Who touched this car?” “Why?” Morgan asked. “Who had access?””
“My friend’s husband, Robert, fixed the air conditioning three weeks ago.”
Morgan wrote in her notebook. “Is there anyone else who has problems at home?” “
I swallowed hard, and the bile rose in my throat. “My hubby. David. He has a girlfriend. Amanda. He didn’t want me to go on this trip, but maybe he wanted it to look like an accident?”
Morgan said, “We need to take you to the hospital.” “And I need to talk to David.”
I called David while I was in the ambulance. “Come to Central General.” Right now.”
As soon as we got there, Emma was taken away for blood work. Even though it was warm, I shivered in the waiting room. Detective Morgan stood beside the entrance like a guard.
The double doors blasted open thirty minutes later. David ran in with messy hair and a shirt that was wet with exertion.
“Jennifer! Hey, Emma!” He saw me and ran toward me with his arms wide.
I got up and pushed him away. “Did you do it?” I yelled, and the sound came out of my throat. “Did you try to kill us for her?” For Amanda? “
David stopped moving and stared at me in shock. “Kill you? What are you talking about, Jennifer?“
“Mr. Detective Morgan stood between us and said, “Johnson” “I have some questions.”
“Wait,” David begged, staring at me over Morgan’s shoulder. “Jennifer, listen.” I didn’t mean to murder you. I was trying to help you! I hired a private eye! “
“A PI?” I looked at him. “You?”
“Yes! I knew something wasn’t right. There were strange cars parked down the street and you were being kept alone. I was looking into it!”
The doors to the waiting area opened again at that point. A woman came in. She had long black hair and a leather briefcase.
“Hello, Mrs. Jennifer,” she said in a calm voice.
I gasped. “Hey you.” “You’re Amanda,” the name on the phone screen said.
“Yes,” she responded, putting out her hand. “Hi, I’m Amanda Carter.” I have a license to work as a private investigator. Three weeks ago, David hired me to follow a stalker.
My legs went out, and I fell into the plastic chair.
“A stalker?” I whispered.
“Not a stalker,” Amanda said as she opened her briefcase. “A person who sabotages.” And we did find her.
Amanda put a picture on the low table between us and stated, “The person who is after you is Christine Williams.”
The room was quiet. The vending machine in the corner made a noise that sounded like a roar.
“Christine?” I shook my head, and denial sprang up right away. “She’s my best friend.” She is Olivia’s mom.
Detective Morgan looked at the dossier Amanda had given him and said, “She is a woman with a history.” “Five years ago, Christine was a suspect in an assault case in Ohio. Her best friend’s kid got quite bad chemical burns after using a lotion that Christine had given her. There wasn’t enough proof to charge anyone, but the reason was envy. The other kid had won a pageant. Olivia hadn’t.
Amanda went on, “It’s a pattern. Proxy Munchausen by envy.” She picks on mothers with “perfect” kids because she thinks Olivia isn’t good enough. “She destroys the competition to make her daughter feel better.”
David crouched down next to me and took my chilly hands in his. “I heard you chatting to her, Jennifer. You told her everything. I knew it didn’t match when the charges of bullying started. I hired Amanda to keep an eye on her, not you. When I told you over the phone to “make sure it’s done,” what did you do? I told Amanda to finish the background check.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I cried.
“I didn’t have any proof!” David cried. “If I had told you, you would have called her.” You would have told her. And I was scared she might get worse if she knew we were watching.
There was static on Detective Morgan’s radio. “We have a warrant.” We’re breaking into the Williams’ house right now.
We stayed at the hospital. Morgan came back an hour later with distinct evidence bags.
She said with a gloomy look, “We got them. We found the chemicals that were used to make the drugs in Robert’s garage.” We also found this.
She held up a journal. Christine’s journal.
I read the entry that was due today. June 15. She sent Jennifer on the trip. The device is ready. It will seem like a tragedy. Finally, Olivia won’t have to live in Emma’s shadow anymore. Great.
Morgan responded, “Robert has confessed.” “We’re questioning him right now.” “He’s singing like a bird.”
She played a recording on her computer. Robert’s voice, broken and crying, filled the room.
“She made threats against me. She said… she said she would do it to me. She said that Olivia would be glad if Emma left. She’s… she’s not thinking straight. She made me put the device together. I wanted to tell you, Mrs. Jennifer. I wanted to scream when I gave you the keys that day. “But I was a coward.”
“Where is she?” I asked, my voice getting harder and harder to understand.
Morgan said, “Interrogation Room 1. We just brought her in.”
David and I stood behind the one-way mirror at the police station the next day. Christine was sitting at the metal table. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t in a panic. She seems… bored.
Detective Morgan sat across from her. “You tried to kill a mother and her seven-year-old child, Christine.” Why? “
Christine shrugged and smiled a little, which sent chills down my spine. “What’s wrong with making things fair?””
“Making things fair?””
“Jennifer had everything,” Christine replied in a flat voice. “The ideal husband. The best job. And Emma, Miss Perfect Emma. Always winning accolades. Always the main character in the play. Do you know what it’s like to see your own child slip into the background?”
“So you kill the other people?””
“I was protecting Olivia,” Christine said with a snap, her eyes suddenly sparkling with crazy energy. “I told Olivia that Emma was awful. I warned her that everyone would love Olivia instead of Emma if she left. “I did it out of love.”
Detective Morgan stood up and remarked, “That’s not love.” “That’s ownership.” And it’s going to give you twenty-five years to life.
Christine laughed. The sound was dry and empty, and it resonated through the glass and into my bones.
She said, “You can put me in jail.” “But I did try.” “At least I’m a good mom.”
I turned my back on the glass and buried my face in David’s chest. I realized I had let a devil into my house and called her buddy.
The trial went quickly. There was a lot of proof. The chemicals, the diary, Robert’s evidence, and Ohio’s dark past all sealed her doom.
The judge looked down at Christine, who was still wearing the mask of arrogant indifference and an orange jumpsuit.
The judge said, “For the charges of attempted murder in the first degree, child abuse, and conspiracy, I sentence you to twenty-five years in state prison.”
Christine didn’t move. She just turned her head and looked me in the eye in the gallery. She didn’t even blink.
Robert got a suspended sentence and probation for helping, but he lost custody of Olivia. He was a broken guy, just like we were, because of how scared his wife made him.
And Olivia… poor Olivia. The investigation showed how bad the mental abuse she had been through was. Christine had brainwashed her, making her lie about Emma and detest her only friend. She was put in foster care with a family that was trained to help her, far away from her mother’s bad behavior.
It’s been a year since the sirens went off on the highway.
Like a house that has been hit by a hurricane, our lives have slowly rebuilt. David and I went to therapy for months to learn how to talk to each other and forgive each other. He forgave me for thinking he was lying, and I forgave him for harboring secrets to keep me safe.
We agreed that there would be no more secrets. Always.
Emma had trouble sleeping because of nightmares for a spell. She was scared of automobiles and scents. But kids are tough. The shadows started to go away with the help of a child psychologist.
Last week, I got a letter with no address on it. It was written in pencil on lined paper.
Hi Aunt Jennifer and Emma,
My new mom is kind. We own a dog called Buster. The doctors say I don’t have to listen to the voice in my head that sounded like my old mom anymore. I’m sorry I told you a falsehood about Emma. I missed her. I wish you happiness.
Love, Olivia.
That letter made me cry. I sobbed for the tiny child who was a pawn in her mother’s sick game.
It’s Sunday today. The blue sky is bright and painful. We got a new car, and David looked at every inch of it before we drove it off the lot. We put together a picnic basket and drove to the park with the air conditioning blowing clean, safe air.
“Mom,” Emma said from the backseat as we drove. “Is the air conditioning okay?””
We looked at each other and laughed. It was a nervous laugh, but it was real. David remarked, “It’s perfect, sweetie.”
We sat on a blanket with a checkered pattern on the grass. I saw Emma run with a group of youngsters, and I could hear her laughter in the wind. David held my hand tightly.
“If she hadn’t smelled it…” I mumbled, and for a moment, the old worry came back.
“But she did,” David responded with conviction. “We’re here.” “We made it.”
“Mom! Hey, Dad! Hey!” Hey!”Emma yelled, pointing at the sky.
A huge double rainbow arched over the trees, bright against the dark clouds of a storm that was passing by.
“It’s pretty,” I said.
I gazed at my family. The husband who attempted to save me. The daughter who really did. And the group of real friends—Ms. Parker and Detective Morgan were there for us when everything fell apart.
Before, I believed I knew what trust was. I believed it was faith without seeing. But now I realize that you have to gain trust. It is the steel that is made stronger by hardship.
Christine tried to kill me because she despised how happy I was. But by doing that, she taught me to appreciate it more than I ever had before.
I held David’s hand closer. “Yes,” I murmured, seeing the rainbow vanish into the light. “We made it.”
