Chapter 2
Clara’s face lost all its color,
draining until she looked like a statue of marble.
She looked at me,
then at the doctor,
her mouth opening and closing as she tried to scramble for a new lie.
"She’s... she’s having a delusion," Clara stammered,
her hands shaking so violently she had to grip the arms of her chair.
"You see, Doctor?
This is exactly what I was talking about.
She’s aggressive,
she’s paranoid,
she’s making up stories!"
I didn't let her finish.
I reached into my bag and pulled out a thick, legal-sized envelope.
I placed it on the desk in front of Dr. Thorne.
"These are the bank statements from the last three months, Doctor," I said.
"And if you look at the dates,
you’ll see that every time my wife claimed to be 'buying groceries' for my mother,
she was actually transferring funds into a private brokerage account held in her maiden name."
Clara lunged for the envelope,
but I caught her wrist.
I didn't squeeze,
but I held her in place with the same firm grip she had used on my mother.
"Don't," I said.
"It’s over, Clara."
Dr. Thorne opened the envelope,
his eyes scanning the pages.
"It seems, Mrs. Moretti,
that your 'devoted care' involved a significant amount of financial theft."
Clara shrank back into her chair,
the image of the sweet, exhausted wife disintegrating into ash.
"It was my money too!" she screamed,
the mask finally slipping completely.
"He was off playing soldier!
He left me alone with this... this woman!"
Mom didn't even flinch.
She looked at Clara with a profound, chilling pity.
"You were never alone, Clara," Mom said.
"You had plenty of time to leave.
You just preferred to stay and take what wasn't yours."
Dr. Thorne stood up,
walking to the door and locking it from the inside.
"I have already called the local precinct," the doctor said.
"They are aware of the situation.
And they are aware of the recordings I’ve already been provided."
Clara looked at the wall,
her eyes darting around as if looking for an exit that didn't exist.
"The recordings?" she whispered.
"What recordings?"
I leaned forward,
my voice a quiet, deadly whisper.
"The ones in the kitchen, Clara.
The ones where you boasted to your sister that you were going to lock me out of my own life once Mom was put away."
She let out a strangled cry,
covering her face with her hands.
"I didn't mean it!
I was just angry!
Liam, please!
I’m your wife!"
The word felt like poison in the air.
"You were my wife," I corrected her.
"Until you decided to turn my home into a prison for the woman who raised me."
A sharp knock sounded at the door.
Dr. Thorne went to open it,
revealing two uniformed officers standing in the hallway.
"Is this the residence of the Moretti household?" the lead officer asked.
"Yes," Dr. Thorne replied,
stepping aside.
Clara went limp,
her body slumping over in the chair.
As the officers approached her,
she looked up at me one last time,
not with love,
but with a raw, ugly hatred that finally revealed who she had been all along.
"You think you’ve won?" she hissed.
"You think you can just go back to the way things were?"
"No," I said,
watching as the officer reached for his handcuffs.
"I don't expect to go back to anything.
I’m just here to make sure you never hurt another person again."
The click of the handcuffs was the most satisfying sound I had ever heard.
As they dragged her from the room,
she didn't scream.
She just stared at the ceiling,
her mind already racing to build a new lie.
But it didn't matter anymore.
May you like
The web had been torn down,
and she was finally caught in her own threads.
