My mother’s funeral felt unreal, like I was moving through fog. People offered condolences, hugged me, placed food on the memorial table, and quietly cried nearby. I barely registered any of it.
By evening, most of the guests had gone home. The house felt unbearably heavy, so I slipped outside and walked toward the river. The ground along the bank was slick from the rain. I stood near the edge for only a moment before the earth suddenly gave way beneath me.
I didn’t even manage to scream before I plunged into the freezing water.
The current was brutal. My dress instantly dragged me downward, and my shoes made every movement harder. For several terrifying seconds, I swallowed water and truly believed I was going to die.
But years ago, I had trained as a swimmer. Instinct moved faster than panic. I forced myself onto my back, kicked hard, and pushed toward the reeds growing near the shoreline. My hands finally caught the rough stalks, and with all the strength I had left, I dragged myself onto the muddy bank.
I collapsed there, soaked and gasping for breath.
Then I heard voices.
Someone had stepped onto the ledge directly above me. I carefully lifted my head through the reeds — and froze.
It was my husband.
And my best friend.
They stood close together at the edge of the river, staring into the dark water below.
— She won’t make it out, — my husband said coldly. — Even a strong swimmer would struggle to survive here.
— What if she does? — my friend asked anxiously.
— She won’t. Besides, everyone saw she drank a little after the funeral. She slipped and fell.
My friend gave a quiet laugh.
— That’s easy enough. I’ll say I saw her lose her footing. I’ll say I tried to save her but couldn’t reach her in time.
— Exactly, — my husband replied.
And in that instant, I realized with horror that my fall into the river may not have been an accident at all.
My friend hesitated briefly before asking:
— Fine. But what about her mother’s death? Did you pay someone off?
My husband answered calmly, as though discussing something insignificant.
— Yes. Everything’s handled. Everyone accepted the heart attack story.
Something inside me shattered.
My friend laughed softly.
— You promised you’d explain everything once both of them were gone. So why did you need to get rid of them at the same time?
For several seconds, my husband said nothing.
Then he answered:
— Because they knew a very important secret.
My blood ran cold.
And then he revealed something that made my entire body go numb. That was the reason he murdered my mother… and why he had just tried to murder me too.
Shortly before she died, my mother had urgently asked me to come see her. When I arrived, she was sitting alone in the kitchen wearing her robe, an old photograph trembling in her hands.
— Do you remember my brother? — she asked quietly.
I barely did. I remembered a tall man who used to carry me on his shoulders when I was little. He died when I was six.
My mother stared down at the photograph for a long moment before speaking.
— Someone helped him die. And I stayed silent about it for almost forty years.
She told me her brother had worked in the district administration, overseeing land registrations. Back in the late seventies, several powerful men illegally transferred huge plots of land into their own names using forged signatures and fake official stamps.
He was the only person who knew the truth. Before he died, he managed to hide the original documents with my mother.
A month later, his body was discovered beside the railway tracks. Everyone claimed he was drunk and had been struck by a train.
My mother kept quiet for decades because she was terrified. But recently, luxury homes began appearing on those same lands. The businessman behind the development project was the son of one of the men involved in the original fraud.
My mother admitted that strange cars had started appearing near the house.
— They found out, — she whispered.
Before I left that night, she told me:
— I hid the documents again. I won’t tell you where. Search for them in the place we used to visit all the time when you were little. When you find them — take them to court.
At the time, I didn’t understand how dangerous the situation really was.
But somehow my husband learned about those documents.
And now, hidden beneath the reeds while listening to him speak with my best friend, I finally understood the full truth.
They murdered my mother.
And they had just tried to murder me too.
