They say loving someone is like tending to a garden. Watching them now, I realized how true that was.
Years ago, Brandon Pruitt had been deported, returning in disgrace. He came to Bonnie like a wounded animal, begging for a place to stay. I tried to stop it. Bonnie respected my wishes at the time.
I never expected Brandon to hold such a deep grudge over my hesitation. I never expected him to abduct my daughter in retaliation.
And I certainly never expected Bonnie to help him cover it up.
Looking back, I had sacrificed everything to find Mandy. My job. My family's financial security. Every cent went to search teams and missing person flyers. I mortgaged my parents' home and sold off every asset to my name.
Bonnie knew the truth. She watched me drown in debt and agony.
Yet while I was on my knees begging for help, she used our joint savings to buy this villa for Brandon. She brought Mandy here, living openly with her first love in a twisted domestic fantasy.
I looked around the room. The decor was exquisite, the furnishings meticulous. Every cushion, every vase, every painting—hand-picked by Bonnie.
The woman who procrastinated for days before washing a single bowl at our house had poured her soul into this place. She moved mountains for Brandon. I couldn't even get her to look at me.
The difference between obligation and obsession was painful to witness.
I forced down the bile rising in my throat, willing the ghostly tears to stay unshed. Then Mandy looked up at Bonnie, her eyes wide and terrifyingly innocent.
"Mommy, when are you going to marry Uncle Brandon?" Her voice was sweet. "I want him to be my daddy."
The words were small, but they gutted me.
Bonnie froze. She didn't correct the child. She didn't rush to explain. Instead, she turned to Brandon, her expression softening into guilt.
"I'm sorry, Brandon," she murmured. "Being with me forces you to live in the shadows. You're such a good man, and I can't even give you the status you deserve."
Brandon leaned into her embrace, resting his head on her shoulder in practiced vulnerability.
"Just being with you is enough for me, Bonnie." His voice was soft. "I don't mind suffering a little. I just..." He paused. "I worry that I've wronged our child."
He wrapped his arms around her waist, his hand sliding down to rest possessively over her lower abdomen.
"You don't know how long I've waited for this baby. How much I've looked forward to starting a real family."
A baby?
The revelation struck like a physical blow. Before Bonnie could respond, her phone shattered the moment.
Bonnie, usually the model of professional discipline, ignored it. The ringtone persisted, grating and urgent. She declined the call four, maybe five times, desperate to preserve the mood.
Finally, with no other choice, she answered, her tone sharp.
"What is it? I told you not to disturb me when I'm off duty."
Spencer Lawrence's voice came through tight with panic.
"Captain, it's bad. We found a male corpse downstream. Forensics puts time of death as tonight."
Bonnie frowned, her hand still covering Brandon's on her stomach.
"The higher-ups say the timing is sensitive," Spencer continued. "To prevent public panic, they need you at the scene immediately."
Bonnie looked at Brandon, then at the cozy living room she had built for him.
"I have a family emergency," she lied. "I can't go."
"Captain, this is a major homicide case!" Spencer's voice rose. "A human life is at stake!"
Bonnie didn't move. She was already formulating a stronger excuse, searching for a way to brush off her duty so she could stay here in her perfect lie.
Watching her, a bitter, hollow laugh escaped me.
Before I died, I had made one last struggle. Countless times, I had called her. I begged Bonnie to come home, to just sit with me for a moment. I begged her to help me look for Mandy one last time.
I begged her to just look at me.
And now, she wouldn't even come to look at my body.
