The men had been hired. Paid to break into the property. The man who hired them was Derek Harris.
The police already had the lab report from the poison packet on file through Mr. Collins. Now there was attempted criminal intrusion, financial fraud, and a chain of messages between Derek and Ruth. The authorities pulled at one thread, and the whole thing came apart.
Derek was arrested first.
Ruth followed.
She denied everything. So did he. But the messages were recovered. The money trails were there. The hired men talked. The poison report carried enormous weight. This was no longer gossip, suspicion, or marital ugliness.
It was evidence.
The legal process took time, but time was on Michael’s side now.
During those weeks, something else quietly deepened between him and Abigail.
Not rushed. Not dramatic. Built out of honesty, steadiness, and the strange intimacy that comes from surviving darkness together.
Then one afternoon in the garden, Michael told her another truth.
He had been secretly seeing a specialist for months.
“There’s been progress,” he said.
He placed his hands on the arms of the wheelchair and, with effort, stood up.
Slowly. Carefully. But unmistakably.
Abigail stared.
He could stand.
He had been regaining strength for two months.
