That had become their favorite word for me.
For the last two months, Vivian and Grant had poisoned everyone around us with rumors. They told relatives I had been unfaithful. They claimed Daniel discovered terrible secrets about me before the crash. They suggested the stress from our marriage caused him to drive recklessly that rainy night.
They told neighbors I emptied his accounts.
They told people at Daniel’s company I couldn’t be trusted.
They told everyone a version of the story where I was the problem.
What they didn’t know was that Daniel had already told me the truth before he died.
I remembered the night clearly.
Daniel came home pale and exhausted, carrying a thick folder under one arm while gripping his phone like it contained a bomb.
“They’ve been using my name,” he told me quietly.
I frowned. “Who?”
“My mother and Grant.”
At first I laughed nervously because the idea sounded ridiculous.
Then I saw his face.
No humor.
No exaggeration.
Only fear.
“Loans,” he whispered. “Forged signatures. Fake transfers. Shell companies. And when it collapses, they’re planning to pin everything on you.”
“Me?” I asked breathlessly.
Daniel nodded miserably. “You’re the outsider, Elena. They think everyone will believe you’re greedy.”
The next morning he met with a lawyer.
Three days later, he was dead.
The police ruled it an accident.
Brake failure.
Wet roads.
Tragic.
