A name appeared: Karen.

From the kitchen, I heard his voice:

“She’s wearing it.”
“Don’t worry.”
“She’ll sleep in it. Tomorrow it’ll look like an allergic reaction.”
“The insurance is ready.”

Everything inside me went cold.

This wasn’t suspicion anymore.

It was the truth.

PART 3

When he returned, I was already standing.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Not worried.

Annoyed.

“Nothing,” I said calmly. “Just wondering how long you’ve been rehearsing this.”

Before he could answer, the door opened.

Police officers stepped in.

His face turned pale.

Excuses came fast—misunderstanding, wrong context, denial.

But the evidence spoke louder.

The policy.
The receipts.
The recording.

They arrested him in our living room.

Karen was arrested the same day.

It wasn’t a mistake.

It was a plan.

Days later, I felt everything at once—anger, exhaustion, disbelief.

I blamed myself for not seeing it sooner.

But Nora told me something I will never forget:

“The problem wasn’t that you trusted him. The problem was that he had no limits.”

Two weeks later, I took the same bus again.

And there she was.