ngs. But murder? Mirabel, murder is—”
Mirabel raised a hand.
“Jerry,” she said, her voice steadier now, firmer. “I know you want to defend her. She is your mother. I understand that.”
She paused, then reached into the small bag she had brought from the market.
Jerry watched her hand move slowly, carefully, as if she were about to show him something that could change everything.
She pulled out an old small phone.
“What is that?” Jerry asked.
“It’s the reason I’m alive,” she whispered.
Then she looked him straight in the eye.
“I recorded her.”
Jerry’s blood ran cold.
“I recorded the call,” she said, “and I recorded something else too.”
Jerry leaned forward without realizing.
“What else?”
“The doctor,” she whispered.
Jerry’s eyes widened.
“The family doctor. Jerry… he helped her.”
The world tilted.
“No,” Jerry breathed. “No, he wouldn’t.”
Mirabel’s thumb hovered over the phone screen.
“Jerry,” she said softly, “your mother didn’t just try to kill me.”
She blinked through tears.
“She already planned how to bury me while I was still breathing.”
Jerry’s heart slammed against his ribs.
“Mirabel,” he whispered desperately, “play it.”
Mirabel nodded.
Her thumb moved toward the audio file.
And at that exact moment, Jerry’s phone began to ring.
He pulled it out.
Caller ID: Madame Hannah.
Jerry froze.
Mirabel’s eyes widened with pure fear.
And in that quiet garden, with birds still chirping and children laughing in the distance, Jerry realized something terrifying.
His mother was calling.
