Chapter 6

I spent a week in the hospital. When I was finally discharged, I knew what I had to do. Dallas was at a "business dinner"-probably with Alanna. I had a few hours.

I went to his home office. It took me less than a minute to guess the password to his phone. It was Hannah's birthday. Of course it was.

I found what I was looking for in a group chat with his friends. Titled "The Boys."

Can't wait for the anniversary show, one message read. You really going to post the video of Autumn?

Don't you feel bad? another one asked. She just lost a baby. She has postpartum depression.

Then, Dallas's reply. Cold. Cruel. Final.

I have to take three Viagra just to touch her. There's no feeling there. It's just a role I'm playing.

Even though I knew it was all a lie, seeing the words in black and white made my whole body tremble with a rage so profound it felt like my bones were vibrating.

I found the video file. It was labeled "Anniversary Surprise." My hands shook as I held my finger over the delete button. Then I pressed it. And I kept pressing until it was wiped clean from his phone and his cloud storage.

Just as I put the phone back, it buzzed. A text from Dallas.

Party at my brother's tonight. You should come.

My fingers flew across the screen. Okay.

The party was a small gathering of Dallas's inner circle. The same men from the group chat. Alanna was there, of course, draped over Dallas's brother on the couch, laughing too loudly.

I sat in a chair in the corner, nursing a glass of water, making myself as small as possible.

They started a game of Truth or Dare. The bottle spun and landed on Alanna. She chose Dare.

"Kiss a guy in the room for three minutes," someone yelled.

Alanna's eyes flickered to Dallas, then she giggled and picked up a bottle of tequila. "I'll take the punishment," she said, winking. "My faith teaches that a woman should only kiss the man she loves."

"Oh yeah?" someone slurred. "And who's that? What's he like?"

Alanna looked dreamily into the distance. "He's the kind of man who would write me ninety-nine love letters," she sighed.

As soon as the words left her mouth, the lights in the room went out. A planned power outage.

I reached for the seat next to me. Dallas was gone.

Exactly three minutes later, the lights flickered back on. Alanna was still sitting in the same spot, but her lips were swollen and red, a smug, satisfied smile playing on her face. Dallas was back in his seat, looking nonchalant.

Everyone in the room knew what had happened. No one said a word. They were all in on it. All part of his sick game.

I stood up and walked out without a word. I didn't go home. I took a taxi straight to the cemetery.

I found the small, pathetic grave marker for our son. "Baby Fischer." It didn't even have a name.

I went to the groundskeeper's shed and "borrowed" a shovel. Then I started digging.

The work was hard, but my grief and rage fueled me. I dug until the shovel hit something hard. A small, wooden box.

I knelt in the dirt, my hands trembling as I brushed the soil away and slowly lifted the lid.

Just as I did, a figure appeared at the edge of the grave. Dallas.

"Autumn? What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice laced with confusion.

I didn't look at him. I stared into the box. "My baby," I whispered, my voice cracking. "He told me in a dream that he had red marks on his neck."

I remembered the day they told me he was gone. Stillborn, they said. I fell into a black hole of depression. And Dallas? He spent his days at the temple with Alanna, "praying."

"Autumn, you're not making sense," Dallas said, his face a mask of concern. But I could see the flicker of panic in his eyes. He knew.

I looked up at him, my gaze hard. "He can't talk, can he, Dallas?" I lifted the box. Inside, nestled on a black velvet cloth, was not ash, but a small, intricately carved wooden charm. A string of beads was wrapped around it.

"What is this, Dallas?" I demanded, my voice rising. "What did you put in my son's coffin?"

He visibly relaxed, the tension leaving his shoulders. He thought he was in the clear. "It's a protective charm, Autumn," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "The beads are blessed. It's to help his soul find its way."

I started to laugh. A wild, unhinged sound that echoed in the silent cemetery.

"You moron," I gasped, tears of laughter and pain streaming down my face. "You absolute moron."

I held up the charm. "This isn't a blessing. It's Sanskrit."

His face went pale.

"I can read Sanskrit, Dallas," I said, my voice dropping to a low, cold whisper. "I know what it says."

I looked him dead in the eye. "It says, 'May the wicked burn in hell.'"