The night had been quiet. It was an odd kind of quiet, like the air was holding its breath. Laura Mitchell sat in the worn corner of the couch, covered in a blanket she hadn’t moved from in hours, holding a cup of tea that had gone cold a long time ago. The screen on her phone was dark save when she checked for messages that never came. It was on the table with the coffee.
Daniel was late. Seven hours behind.
At this point, her stomach had made a hole that got bigger every time she didn’t answer the phone. She figured he was just late, maybe because he was stuck in traffic or lost his signal. But she did know him. Daniel never left her alone for this long, especially not while he was driving at night.
She stopped phoning at 12:00 AM. There was nothing else to do but wait.
Her phone eventually rang at 2:14 a.m. She ran for it, and her heart raced. But it wasn’t him.
“Mrs. Mitchell?” A man’s voice came through, calm, formal, and without any emotion. “This is Trooper Reynolds from the state.” We found your husband’s automobile. It appears like it got off the interstate near Riverview Bridge. They found the car wrecked against a tree. There was no body, but the damage was so serious that there was blood within… I really am sorry.
Laura didn’t scream. She didn’t fall asleep. She just stood there, as if every nerve in her body had stopped working. Her hand dropped, and so did the mug, which broke on the hardwood floor. She didn’t even blink when the hot liquid touched her legs. She couldn’t do anything but sit there, feeling like the solitude would never stop.
The days that followed were a blur. A slow, overwhelming flow of casseroles, condolences, and quiet sadness from friends and neighbors who didn’t know what to say. People came to the house to talk about their anguish, their silent prayers, and their visions of peace and paradise. Laura nodded, said thank you, and smiled when she had to, but within, everything had stopped.
She missed him, or at least the way she believed she knew him. But something else didn’t feel right.
She saw a crumpled receipt from a motel in rural New Jersey when she was reading through the insurance papers. It was obvious what day it was: two days after the accident. Her heart stopped for a moment. She turned it over. It was clear that Daniel had signed it.
Her hands were shaking. She didn’t want to think it was true. But once she opened the door, she couldn’t stop.
Bank statements showed strange withdrawals in a number of states. Someone who was at a small diner reported they saw a man who looked like Daniel. Someone she knew had spotted his automobile, which was a make and model that wasn’t very common, hundreds of miles from where the crash happened. Each clue revealed something different about the story she had been told. It wasn’t a tragedy; it was a betrayal.
Daniel was still alive. And he had acted like he was dead.
Why? Money? Freedom? Another woman?
Laura never learned anything. And maybe she didn’t want to. The facts were clear: he had left her to cry, be pitied, and be broken while he carried on with his life, without caring about the harm he had done.
She thought about calling the police. She thought of talking to him. But eventually, a better idea won out.
She didn’t say anything.
The funeral went off without a hitch. She didn’t talk about what she found. People reported the crash was so horrific that they couldn’t open the casket. Some individuals were crying, and others were quiet as they stood under a sky full of clouds. They all didn’t know that the individual they were sad over was lying.
Laura strolled through it like a shadow: calm, quiet, and in control. But the way she held her fists under her black dress spoke a different narrative. She had thought over every last aspect of this moment.
When it was time to say goodbye, the guests lined up and left flowers, words of farewell, and tears. Laura was the final one to go. When she stepped forward, the room grew quiet.
She didn’t have a bouquet; she had a silver bucket in her hands.
Nobody spotted it at first. They believed it was a private ceremony or something that meant anything. But her grip got tighter as she moved closer to the casket. Her face stayed blank, and she kept looking at the man inside.
Daniel seemed so dead as he lay there. Makeup that makes you look pale. There was a wonderful serenity about the setting. The funeral director did a great job.
But Laura knew better.
She didn’t think and tipped the pail forward. He got a lot of cold water on his face. It soaked through his shirt and onto his neck, and it poured into the holes in his ears. Everyone in the room gasped at once.
Then there was some movement.
A twitch.
A shiver.
Then his eyes flew open.
Somebody yelled.
Daniel jerked up, choking on the cold air and gasping in panic and confusion. His eyes moved around the room as people who were grieving retreated away in dread, some hiding their mouths and others retreating toward the door.
The illusion was gone. People could see the lies in pieces.
Daniel, who was very much alive, sat in his casket, nude and wet.
Laura stayed put. She looked at him with cool detachment, the anger that had been building up in her now gone.
He tried to talk, but he stammered and couldn’t say anything. The crowd roared in wrath, astonishment, and shock.
Laura turned around and walked away with an empty bucket, a straight back, and steady steps.
She hadn’t come to talk about it or forgive. She had come to talk.
And now, in front of everyone who had mourned for him, comforted her, and believed what he said, Daniel was shown.
He had tried to run away.
Laura, on the other hand, made sure he would always be seen.
