The Sunday service had ended, leaving an awkward silence in its wake. "That was a nice service," Mirabella finally offered, her voice barely disturbing the quiet. Norbert replied curtly, "Yes." His question, "Did you listen carefully?" carried an undertone that made Mirabella uneasy. "Of course. Why do you ask?" she replied, trying to keep her tone even. "It just seemed like your mind was somewhere else," he stated, his gaze unnervingly direct.
As they reached their immaculately kept home, the scent of lemon air freshener and furniture polish filled the air. Mirabella, ever the diligent homemaker, headed for the kitchen. "I'll make dinner," she announced. But Norbert stopped her. "Wait," he commanded. "I have something to tell you." Mirabella turned, concern flashing in her eyes. "What?"
"Michael came by last week when I wasn't home. Mrs. Adams saw his truck at our house." Mirabella froze. Mrs. Adams, their notorious gossip of a neighbor. "So what? Was he fixing something?" she asked, perhaps too quickly.
"Yes," Mirabella blurted out. "The kitchen faucet? I told you it was leaking." Norbert's searching gaze intensified. "That's strange. The faucet works perfectly." The tension in the air was palpable. Mirabella's heart pounded, but she forced herself to remain calm. "Maybe I was mistaken," she stammered. "Or maybe he fixed it faster than I thought." Norbert's "Maybe" lacked conviction. "In any case," he continued, his voice hardening, "next time, it's better to wait until I'm home. I don't want the neighbors to get the wrong idea." "Of course," Mirabella agreed, hurrying to the kitchen, desperate to escape his scrutiny.
Left alone, Norbert stared at the family photo on the mantelpiece. A vacation in San Diego, two years ago. Four smiling faces, the picture of an American family. Now, it felt like a cruel mockery. Mirabella's blush when Michael's name was mentioned, her nervousness about his visit—the suspicions he'd been suppressing now festered like a cancer.
Michael, his impulsive, carefree brother, so unlike Norbert's organized determination. Michael, the tradesman, while Norbert built a career as a preacher. And women, they'd always been drawn to Michael's easy charm, a stark contrast to the strict religious men.
In the kitchen, Mirabella's hands trembled as she chopped vegetables. Norbert's suspicion gnawed at her. Could he know? Or was it just a coincidence? Her affair with Michael had begun three months ago, an unplanned escape from the loneliness of her marriage. Michael offered understanding, passion, the feeling of being needed as a woman, not just a pastor's wife.
"Mom, is Uncle Michael coming to dinner tonight?" Emma's innocent question jolted Mirabella. "No, dear. Why do you ask?" "He used to come often," Emma replied sadly. Mirabella's heart ached. Michael, the beloved uncle, had become a rare, brief visitor, his presence now a dangerous secret.
Lunch was a quiet affair, filled with unspoken tension. After the meal, Norbert retreated to his office. Mirabella, washing dishes, felt her phone vibrate. A message from Michael: *Thinking of you. When will we see each other?* She deleted it quickly, her heart pounding, hoping no one had noticed.
Monday dawned with a deceptive calm. Mirabella, a dedicated teacher, found her mind wandering during her math lesson. "Mrs. Cooper, why are you so sad today?" Sophie Martinez's innocent question brought her back to reality. Mirabella felt like she was teetering on the edge of a precipice. Her affair, once an emotional balm, now threatened to shatter her entire world.
After school, she drove to Michael's construction company warehouse. It was a risk, but she had to see him. Michael, his face lighting up with a rare smile, met her. "Michael, I need to talk to you. Norbert suspects something." Michael's expression turned serious. "He knows you came last week. The neighbor saw your truck." Mirabella nervously fiddled with her keys. "And yesterday at church when they mentioned your name, he looked at me strangely."
Michael took her hand. "Bella, maybe it's time to tell him everything. I'm tired of hiding. Tired of pretending you're nothing more than my sister-in-law." "Are you crazy? We have children. Norbert isn't just my husband; he's the head of the largest church in town. A scandal would destroy not only our family but hundreds of people who believe in him."
"What about what we believe in?" Michael pleaded. "Bella, I'm in love with you." Mirabella closed her eyes, memories flooding back—meeting the brothers, Norbert's methodical courtship, Michael's unpredictable charm. "I love you, too," she whispered, "but that doesn't change anything. We can't." "We can divorce him. We'll find a way to be together." "What about the children? Jacob and Emma adore their father. Can you imagine what will happen to them?"
Michael leaned back, bitterness coloring his voice. "Norbert always got everything. As a child, as a teenager. Straight A student, seminary, a successful career. And he even got you first. But he never appreciated you. You're just part of his image." "That's not entirely fair." "Fair?" Michael turned to her, pain in his eyes. "Bella, when was the last time he saw you as a woman, not a symbol? When was the last time he asked about your dreams?" Mirabella fell silent, knowing he was right. Norbert loved her, but as part of his ministry, not as a desirable woman.
"I have to go," she said. "The children will be home soon." "Bella, think about what I said. We can't go on like this forever." As she drove away, Michael's lonely figure against the industrial landscape was a haunting image.
A surprise awaited her at home. Norbert sat in the living room, documents spread on the coffee table. "You're early," Mirabella said, her voice unnaturally calm. "The meeting ended sooner than planned." Norbert looked up. "Did you stay late at school?" "Yes, a parent-teacher conference." The lie came easily, frighteningly so. "I see," Norbert said, setting the papers aside. "I need to discuss something with you. Please sit down." Mirabella's heart leaped. Had he found out? She sat opposite him. "It's about Michael," Norbert began. "Philip told me something interesting. It turns out Michael is having financial problems, serious ones. His company is on the verge of bankruptcy and he owes the bank $200,000." Norbert leaned forward. "And now I understand why he's been coming around so often. He wants to borrow money. He probably thinks it will be easier to get to me through you." Relief warred with pain for Michael. "Maybe we should help him," she suggested cautiously.
"Help?" Norbert stood abruptly. "Bella, this isn't the first time. Michael has been getting into trouble his whole life, and I've always bailed him out." He recounted tales of gambling debts, firings, failed businesses—stories Mirabella had never heard. "He's my brother, and I love him," Norbert continued, pacing. "But there's a limit to my patience. Michael has to finally grow up."
"Dad, is Uncle Michael coming to my birthday party?" Emma's voice shattered the tense silence. Norbert's face softened. "I don't know, sweetheart. Uncle Michael is very busy right now." Mirabella saw her husband's jaw tighten. Michael adored the children, unlike their father, who was often too busy with church matters. "We'll see," Norbert said. "Now go and do your homework." When Emma left, Norbert turned to his wife. "I don't want the children to see Michael until he sorts out his problems. And I don't want him coming here when I'm not at home." Mirabella realized the discussion was over, and Norbert had effectively forbidden her to see Michael.
That evening, after the children were asleep, Mirabella stood in the kitchen. Her thoughts were interrupted by the ringing phone. Michael's voice, drunk and desperate, slurred, "Bella, I need to see you." "Michael, it's late. Norbert is home." "I know about the ban. Philip told him about my debts, didn't he?" His voice dripped with bitterness. "Where are you?" "At the bar on Harbor Boulevard, the Golden Anchor. Bella, I don't know what to do. The bank is taking me to court tomorrow. If I don't find the money, I'll lose everything." Mirabella glanced toward Norbert's study. "Michael, go home. We'll talk tomorrow."
"Home?" He laughed bitterly. "To my one-room apartment where the electricity has been cut off. You know what's funny? Norbert spends more on a Sunday suit than I earn in a month, but he won't give me a penny. That's not true, Bella. He hates me. He always has." Michael paused. "And you know what he said to Phillip? That it's time for me to grow up and take responsibility for my actions. Easy to say when you were born lucky."
"Michael, listen to me. Come to the school tomorrow morning. We'll talk it over and work something out." "Work something out? Run away together? Abandon the children? Or do you think I should disappear from your life so I don't ruin your perfect marriage?" Mirabella didn't know what to say. "I love you," she whispered. "But we need time to think things through."
"Time?" Michael repeated. "Do you know how long I've been waiting? 14 years, Bella. 14 years I've been watching you play the role of my brother's happy wife." The line went dead. "Bella, who were you talking to?" Norbert's voice came from the study. "Wrong number," she replied, surprised at how easy it was to lie.
Wednesday dawned with a rare Anaheim rain. Mirabella's phone vibrated. A message from Michael: *We need to talk today. It's important.* She replied, "After school, the park by the lake." The day dragged on. At lunch, Principal Susan Wright expressed concern. "Miraella, are you all right? You look tired." "I just didn't sleep very well." Susan's gaze was knowing. "If anything happens, Mirabella, you know where to find me."
At the park, Michael looked terrible. "Bella, I've made a decision. Tomorrow I'm leaving Anaheim. Portland. I have a friend there who offered me a job. Building bridges. Good money, a new start." He took her hand. "Will you come with me?" Mirabella felt the ground slip away. "Michael, I can't. The children's school. My whole life is here."
"What life? You're miserable, Bella. You're playing the role of the perfect pastor's wife, but inside you're dying." "What about the children, Jacob and Emma? I can't just abandon them." "We'll find a way." Michael fell silent, the absurdity of his words evident. "You're asking me to abandon my children for an affair with their uncle. It would destroy them."
"And if I stay, it will destroy us," Michael countered. "Bella, I can't live like this anymore. Seeing how Norbert treats you like a piece of furniture." "It's not that simple." "Simple solutions for simple people. We're not simple, Bella. What we have is a once-in-a-lifetime thing." Mirabella closed her eyes, tears welling. She knew he was right. "Give me time to think," she finally said. "How much time?" Michael's voice was desperate. "Bella, I'm leaving tomorrow with or without you." She looked at him, the man she loved but couldn't choose. "I need time." Michael nodded, his eyes conveying his understanding that her answer had already been given.
A surprise awaited her at home. Norbert stood by the window. Her phone lay on the coffee table. "You forgot your phone?" he asked, not turning around. "Yes, I only noticed it at school." Mirabella picked up the phone. Four missed calls from Michael. Her heart raced. "Maybe it's something important." Norbert turned to her. "Bella, I need to tell you something. Philip saw your car yesterday at the warehouse where Michael works." Mirabella felt the blood drain from her face. "I was at the gas station next door." "The gas station is two blocks away from the warehouse," Norbert's voice was even, but cold. "And Philip saw you talking to Michael in your car." Silence. "How long?" Norbert asked quietly, his voice filled with pain. "Three months." The words escaped before she could stop them. "But it's not what you think." "What do I think?" Norbert sat down, looking suddenly much older. "That my wife is sleeping with my brother. That the woman I loved betrayed me with the only person I trusted unconditionally."
"We didn't sleep together." "Then what? Platonic meetings? Heart-to-heart talks?" Norbert stood and paced. "Bella, I'm not an idiot. I saw how you looked at him. I saw how he looked at you." The front door slammed open, and the children ran in. "Mom, what's for dinner?" Emma asked, falling silent at the sight of her parents' faces. "Is mom crying?" Jacob approached Mirabella. "Everything's fine, dear," Norbert said, his composure instantly restored. "Mom and Dad are just discussing adult matters. Go upstairs and do your homework." When the children left, Norbert closed the door. "You've destroyed our family," he said, real anger in his voice. "My children, my church, my life."
"Norbert, I never wanted to." "What didn't you want? For me to find out or for this to happen at all?" Mirabella didn't know how to answer. "I'm unhappy, Norbert," she said. "For years, you've only seen me as a pastor's wife, the mother of your children. But I am a living woman with my own needs and dreams." "And that's why you went to my brother? Michael sees me as a woman. He listens to me. He understands me."
"Michael?" Norbert slammed his fist on the table. "Michael, who has envied me all his life. Who can't hold down a job, build a relationship, create something of his own, and you think he loves you? He just wants to take away what I have." "That's not true." "Bella, open your eyes. Michael is incapable of real love. All he knows is how to destroy." Norbert moved closer. "But you know what's worst of all? You let him destroy us." A soft knock at the door. "Mom, Dad. Jacob's voice. "What is it, son?" Norbert opened the door. "Uncle Michael is here. He's standing on the porch." Mirabella felt the world stop. Norbert looked at her, rage and pain in his eyes. "Tell your uncle that your father will be right out," he said to Jacob. When his son left, Norbert turned to his wife. "Stay here and keep the children upstairs." He stepped out onto the porch.
The conversation lasted about ten minutes. Michael turned and walked to his truck. Norbert stood on the porch watching his brother drive away. When the truck's lights disappeared, he returned. "What were you talking about?" Mirabella asked. "I told him I knew about your relationship and that if he ever came near my family again, I would destroy him." "Norbert." "And I also told him that you chose me, that you would stay with the children and never see him again." Mirabella looked at her husband, at this man who had just made a decision for her. "What if I don't want to stay?"
Something cold and frightening entered Norbert's eyes. "Then you'll lose the children, and I'll make sure the whole town knows what kind of mother and wife you are. You wouldn't dare." "Try me." His voice was quiet, but filled with unwavering determination. "Bella, you can leave whenever you want, but the children will stay with me, and I will tell them the truth about why their mother abandoned them." Mirabella realized she was trapped. Norbert knew her weakness. She could never leave Jacob and Emma, and he, as an influential pastor with an impeccable reputation, would easily win custody. "So," Norbert continued, "tomorrow you go to work as usual. Smile, act normal. On Sunday, sit in your usual place in church and no one will ever know about your affair. And if I don't agree, then by Monday, the whole community will know that Pastor Cooper's wife cheated on him with his own brother. The children will find out at school. Your teaching career will be over. And Michael..." Norbert smiled coldly. "Michael already has problems with the bank. One word from me to the right people and he won't even be able to find a job as a janitor." Mirabella looked at her husband and didn't recognize him. "I understand," she said quietly. "Fine, let's go have dinner. The children need to see that everything is normal in our family."
The rest of the evening was a strange charade of forced normality. Norbert joked and smiled, but Mirabella saw the tension in his shoulders, the clenching of his jaw. Late that night, Norbert sat in his study, not preparing his sermon, but lost in thought. He thought of betrayal, of his life crumbling, of the pretense that would now consume him. And he thought that there was only one way to solve this problem once and for all. A way that would never have occurred to old Norbert. He took his notebook and began to write. The plan had to be perfect. No mistakes, no clues, and most importantly, a perfect alibi.
Mirabella lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Norbert slept beside her, a palpable tension emanating from him. She thought of Michael, leaving for Portland. Of her children, victims of a broken family. Of herself, trapped in a gilded cage.
Friday, November 15th. Mirabella woke with the chilling certainty that the world had irrevocably changed. Norbert was already up, the sound of the shower a stark reminder of their chasm. Their bed felt vast and cold. In the two days since the revelation, they had exchanged no words beyond necessity. Norbert was meticulously polite to the children, but in private, the air was thick with unspoken hatred. Mirabella felt like an actress in a play destined for a tragic end.
"Good morning," Norbert said, emerging from the bathroom, his voice unnervingly even. "Good morning," she replied, not meeting his gaze. "We're having dinner with Philip and his wife tonight. You haven't forgotten, have you?" Mirabella had indeed forgotten. "Of course, I remember." "Great. I hope you'll make your famous meatloaf. Philip loves it." Norbert selected a shirt, the ordinariness of his actions surreal against the backdrop of their shattered reality. Mirabella looked at his back, once familiar, now foreign. "Norbert," she said quietly. "We can't go on like this forever." He froze, the shirt suspended in his hands. "We can and we will. The children can sense the tension. Yesterday, Emma asked why we don't talk to each other anymore." "Then we'll have to be better actors." Norbert turned, his face haggard, eyes red-rimmed. "Or do you want them to know the truth about their mother?" The words struck Mirabella like a physical blow. "I'm a good mother." "Good mothers don't cheat on their husbands with their brothers," he retorted. "And good husbands don't blackmail their wives with their children." A dangerous spark ignited between them. Norbert took a step toward the bed, and Mirabella instinctively recoiled. "Be careful, Bella," he warned, his voice low. "You have no right to lecture me on morality." At that moment, Jacob entered the bedroom. "Mom, Dad, is breakfast ready?" Norbert's face instantly transformed, becoming warm and fatherly. "Of course, son, we'll be right down." When Jacob left, Norbert looked at his wife one last time. "Remember, today is an important day. Philip is considering a large donation for the construction of a new wing for the church. I'm counting on your support."
The day at school passed in a fog. Mirabella mechanically went through the motions, her thoughts consumed by Michael, by her life as a prison. After work, she stopped at the supermarket. In the meat department, she heard a familiar voice. "Mirabbella." Linda Carter, an Anaheim police detective and church member, stood before her. "How are you?" Mirabella tried to smile. "Fine. How about you? You look tired. Work, kids?" Linda's gaze was sharp. "If anything happens, Mirabella, you know where to find me." "What could happen?" Mirabella asked too quickly. "Nothing, I hope. It's just that sometimes the happiest families hide the darkest secrets." A chill ran down Mirabella's spine. "Everything's fine with us. Thanks for your concern."
At home, she prepared dinner in a strange state of detachment. The children did homework. Norbert was at church. At 6:00 PM, Philip and Susan Bell arrived. Philip, full of plans for the church. Susan, with wine and flowers. "Mirabella dear, you look beautiful," Susan said, though it was an obvious lie. Dinner was a performance. Norbert was charming, discussing church plans, telling jokes. Mirabella sat beside him, smiling, playing her part. "How's Michael doing?" Susan asked unexpectedly. "Philip said he's having financial difficulties." Mirabella felt Norbert tense beside her. "Michael has decided to start a new life," Norbert replied evenly. "He left for Portland yesterday. He has good prospects there." "How unexpected," Susan said. "Didn't he say goodbye to the children?" Emma looked up. "But he promised to come to my birthday." "Sometimes adults change their plans, dear," Norbert said, stroking his daughter's head. "Uncle Michael sent you a present in the mail." Only Jacob looked at his father with confusion. At 14, he understood that adults don't always tell the truth.
After dinner, only Norbert and Mirabella remained in the kitchen. She washed dishes, he dried them. "That was a complete farce," Norbert said. "You did well today. Almost convincing." "I'm not playing a role, Norbert. I'm just trying to preserve what's left of our family." "Our family?" He put down a plate, the clatter sharp. "You destroyed our family when you went to my brother." "I destroyed it? What about you? You ignored me for years. Treated me like a piece of furniture."
"Enough," Norbert slammed his palm on the table. "Don't you dare blame me. I gave you everything. A home, status, security, and you..." "I wanted love," Mirabella said quietly. "Just love, not status, not security. Love." Something changed in Norbert's eyes. Something final and frightening. "Love," he repeated. "You know what I think love is? Love is loyalty, devotion, sacrifice. What you call love is selfishness and lust."
"Michael loved me. Michael wanted you." Norbert exploded. "He wanted to take away what I had, and you let him do it." Mirabella took a step back. "Norbert, calm down." "Calm down?" He laughed, a cold, crazy sound. "I spent 15 years building my reputation. 15 years creating the perfect family, the perfect life, and in three months you destroyed it all." "No one will find out. You said so yourself." "They already know," he shouted. "Philip knows. His wife suspects. Yesterday, Mrs. Jenkins asked why I look so tired. Do you know how long it will be before the whole community is whispering about it behind my back?" Mirabella realized her husband was on the verge of a breakdown. "Norbert, we can fix everything. We can start over."
"Start over?" He moved closer. "With a wife who cheated on me with my brother? With a wife who thinks about another man when she's lying next to me? No, Bella. Some things can't be fixed." "Then what do you suggest? Divorce?" Norbert shook his head. "Divorce would disgrace me. I'd be removed from my position. The children would suffer. No, divorce is not an option." "Then what?" Norbert stared at her, and in his eyes, she saw something that made her blood run cold. "You'll die," he said quietly. "And a robbery gone wrong. A home invasion, something that will make people feel sorry for me and the children." Mirabella felt as if the world had ceased to exist. "You can't be serious." "I am absolutely serious." Norbert's voice was calm, business-like. "Think about it logically. You're dead. Problem solved. The children get sympathy, not shame. I become a widower, not a cuckold. The community rallies around the bereaved family."
"Norbert, this is madness. You're a pastor. You can't." "I am a man who has been betrayed by those closest to me." There was no emotion in his voice. "I am doing what must be done." Mirabella backed toward the kitchen door. Norbert blocked her way. "Don't try to run, Bella. It's useless." "The children will hear," she whispered. "The children are asleep. I put sleeping pills in their hot chocolate." Horror filled Mirabella's body. "You planned this?" "Of course. Do you think I would act on impulse?" Norbert took a large meat knife from the drawer. "Tomorrow morning, I'll find your body. A burglar broke into the house, and you tried to protect the children. A tragic story. The police will find signs of a break-in and missing valuables. The perfect crime."
"Norbert, please." Mirabella pressed her back against the refrigerator. "Think of the children. They won't be able to live without their mother." "They will. They will have a father who will devote himself entirely to them, and they will never know what their mother was really like." The knife flashed. Mirabella screamed, but the sound stuck in her throat. She tried to dodge, but Norbert was faster. The first blow landed in her stomach. Pain, blinding. Mirabella doubled over. "Norbert," she croaked. "I love the children." "I love them too," he said, preparing for the next blow. "That's why I'm doing this." The second blow was to her chest. Mirabella fell, life draining away. The last thing she saw was her husband's face, calm, focused, without remorse. "I'm sorry, Bella," he said, delivering the final, fatal blow. "But I had no choice." Mirabella Cooper died at 11:47 PM. Her last thought was of her children, sleeping upstairs, drugged.
Norbert stood over his wife's body for several minutes, regaining his composure. Then, he meticulously staged the scene. He broke the back window, overturned chairs, and took jewelry from her box, hiding it in the garage. He washed the knife and put it back in the drawer. At 1:00 AM, he went to bed, setting his alarm for 7:00 AM. Tomorrow, he would discover his wife's body and play the role of the griefstricken widower. The perfect crime.
Saturday, November 16th, 7:23 AM. Norbert Cooper's scream ripped through the neighborhood. "Help! Someone! Help! Mirabella!" Neighbors rushed out. Mrs. Adams was the first to reach the house. She found Norbert on his knees, sobbing. "Norbert, what happened?" "I don't know. I went downstairs for coffee and found her... Oh my god, someone killed my wife." The Anaheim police arrived minutes later. Detective Linda Carter received the call at 8:15 AM. The kitchen was a scene of chaos. Forensic technicians worked, neighbors gathered, journalists began to arrive. Linda entered the house. The kitchen was a battlefield. Overturned chairs, a broken window, blood splattered on the floor and walls. Mirabella's body lay by the refrigerator. Three stab wounds. Not accidental. "What do we have?" Linda asked Jim Morrison, a crime scene investigator. "A 39-year-old woman, multiple stab wounds. Estimated time of death between 11 PM and 1 AM. The knife is from a kitchen set, found in the sink. It's been washed, but there are microscopic traces of blood." "Any signs of a struggle?" "The furniture has been knocked over, but there are no defensive wounds on the victim's hands. That's strange for someone fighting back." Linda nodded, making notes. "Where did you find the husband?" "In the living room, crying. He says he came downstairs this morning and found the body. The children upstairs, fast asleep." This struck Linda as odd. She went upstairs. Jacob and Emma were sleeping too deeply, unnaturally. "Call a doctor," she told Officer Rodriguez. "Check the children for drugs in their blood." In the living room, Norbert sat, head in hands, the picture of a griefstricken husband. "Mr. Cooper. Detective Carter. Anaheim Police Department. I need to ask you a few questions." Norbert raised his head. "Detective Carter. We met at church." Linda sat opposite him. "I'm very sorry for your loss. I know how hard this is, but the sooner we get information, the sooner we can find the person who did this." "Of course. Anything you need." Norbert wiped his eyes. "I just can't believe she's dead." "Tell us what happened." "I went to bed around 11 PM. Mirabella was in the kitchen washing dishes after dinner with friends. I went downstairs for coffee in the morning and found her." "Did you hear anything during the night? A struggle? Screams?" "Nothing. I sleep very soundly, especially when I'm tired." He shook his head. "If only I had known. If only I had heard." "And the children, they were asleep, too." "They had a hard day yesterday and went to bed early." Linda wrote it all down. "Tell me about last night. Who came to visit?" "Philip and Susan Bell, old friends. They left around 10 PM." "How was your wife feeling? Was there anything unusual about her behavior?" Norbert paused. "She seemed tense the last few days. Work at school, taking care of the kids, but nothing out of the ordinary." "Did she have any enemies? Anyone who might have wanted to harm her?" "Mirabella, my god, no. Everyone loved her. The children, her colleagues, the parishioners." At that moment, Officer Chen entered the living room. "Detective, we need to talk." Linda stepped into the hallway. "What did you find?" "The children's blood tests showed traces of Zulpadm, a sleeping pill." "Prescription drug?" "Yes. And something else?" "Mrs. Adams, the neighbor, said she saw the lights on in the house until 2 AM. Someone was walking around on the first floor." Linda returned to Norbert. "Mr. Cooper, do you take sleeping pills sometimes?" "I have trouble sleeping because of stress at work." "Zulpadm?" "Yes, my doctor prescribed it a month ago." "Did you take any yesterday?" "No, I fell asleep without any problems." Linda made a note. "What about the children? Do they take any medication?" "Just vitamins. Why, is something wrong?" "Just a routine check." Linda closed her notebook. "That's all for now, but I'll be back with some more questions."
After the police left, Norbert was alone with his children. Jacob and Emma couldn't comprehend. Strangers filled the house. Their mother was unresponsive. Their father was crying. "Dad, where's Mom?" Emma asked, coming downstairs. Norbert hugged her, tears flowing. "Something terrible has happened to your mom, sweetheart." "What terrible thing?" "She died, Emma. Your mom isn't coming back." His daughter's cry tore at him. Jacob stood in the doorway, comprehending the finality. "How?" his son asked, his voice hoarse. "Someone broke into the house at night. Mom tried to protect us." The rehearsed version felt like ash in his mouth. The next days were a blur of funeral, condolences, journalists, the community rallying. Philip Bell organized the memorial. Parishioners brought food. But Detective Carter kept digging. She interviewed neighbors, colleagues, studied financial records. The robbery theory crumbled. On Tuesday, she visited Norbert at church. He was in his office. "How are the children?" Linda asked. "They're having a hard time. Emma hardly speaks, and Jacob is angry at the world." "That's normal. Time heals." Linda opened her notebook. "I have some questions about your marriage." Norbert tensed. "What exactly are you interested in?" "Did you and your wife have any problems, arguments, disagreements?" "Like any married couple, but we loved each other." Linda continued reading... Part 1 of 3Part 2 of 3Part 3 of 3 Next »