Janette was transported to a holding facility in Baton Rouge. They offered her a deal. If she admitted she accidentally dosed Silas during cleaning and claimed negligence, she would be freed under probation. If she refused, they would pursue attempted murder. She stared at the paper and tore it in half.

“No. I will not lie,” she said. “I am not afraid of the truth.”

The guards scoffed. They expected her to break. That night, on a lobby television, a news broadcast showed Tiffany outside a hospital. She wore sunglasses and spoke to reporters.

“I am not allowing visitors,” she said. “Silas is in an irreversible state. It is time to accept fate.”

Irreversible. Janette’s blood ran cold. She remembered something. When she first arrived to clean the ballroom that afternoon, Silas had dropped something between the cushions. She had seen his phone slide into the crack of the sofa. He must have hidden it deliberately before staging his fall.

If there was proof, it would be there.

Janette escaped the facility during a shift change, slipping out through a loading dock. Rain slicked the streets. She hitched a ride with Mr. Franklin Ruiz, her former neighbor who drove a battered truck. He took her to New Orleans, where she met Mrs. Delilah Cain, a retired nurse who owed Janette a favor. They disguised Janette in hospital scrubs and glasses.

Together, they waited outside St. Augustine Memorial Hospital, where Silas lay in the intensive care unit. Sirens wailed as paramedics rushed a patient into the emergency bay. In the chaos, Janette crossed the lot and slipped inside. Her heart hammered, but her steps remained confident.

She made it to the elevator. She made it to the ICU. She made it to Silas’s bedside.

Machines beeped softly. His skin was so pale it resembled wax. Janette took his hand and whispered.

“I am here. You are not alone. Hold on.”

His eyelids fluttered. Just enough for hope to bloom.

She searched the room for his belongings. There, tucked beneath a blanket on the spare cot, was his phone. Three percent battery. She unlocked it by pressing his thumb to the sensor. The screen lit up. A single audio file waited, labeled with the time stamp from the ballroom.

She pressed play.

Tiffany’s voice flowed from the speaker, clear as crystal.

“…months of preparation… tomorrow the vows… a grieving widow inherits…”

A quiet gasp escaped Janette.