A brief pause.
Then Madame Hannah sighed.
“My son trusts me completely.”
That cut deeper than the first recording.
Jerry stood up abruptly. He walked a few steps, stopped, then walked again. His mind refused to settle.
His mother.
His doctor.
His home.
Everything suddenly felt infected.
He turned back sharply.
“Why didn’t you come to me?”
Mirabel’s eyes filled again.
“I tried,” she said softly. “But you had already boarded your flight to London. Your phone was off. And after I heard the second part of her plan, I knew I would not survive the night.”
Jerry swallowed hard.
“So you pretended to die?”
Mirabel nodded.
“I called Dr. Musa. The elderly doctor who treated your father years ago.”
Jerry nodded slowly.
“He believed me,” she continued. “He helped me fake the symptoms. Slow breathing. Weak pulse. Enough to convince your mother’s doctor that the poison had worked.”
Jerry sat back down slowly.
“My God.”
“They brought my body to the mortuary,” she said quietly. “But before midnight, Dr. Musa came secretly and took me out.”
Jerry looked at her, stunned.
“For one week,” she said, “I have been hiding. Changing locations. Avoiding anyone connected to your family. I didn’t know who else was involved.”
Jerry’s jaw tightened.
The weight of betrayal settled heavily inside him. Betrayal from strangers hurts. Betrayal from family changes something permanent.
He looked at Mirabel.
“And you came to the market today?”
She nodded faintly.
“I ran out of money. I needed food.”
Jerry let out a broken laugh.
“One week,” he said. “I mourned you for one week. I stood beside your empty bed every night.”
Mirabel reached for his hand.
“I’m sorry.”
