«Tell my husband and mother-in-law that I died…

The plan formed gradually. At first, she hoped James would divorce Emma. But when it became clear Emma wouldn’t relinquish the inherited flat, Margaret took drastic steps. She got barbiturates through an old pharmacy contact, claiming insomnia. Dosed it based on online research. Convincing James was easy—he was already scheming to keep Emma’s assets.
«You’re doing the right thing,» she’d said, watching him dissolve the powder in tea.

Initially, murder unnerved her. But she rationalized it as solving a problem. Emma didn’t deserve James, the flat, or the money. It was justice.

Her phone rang, snapping her from her reverie.
«Mum, you coming?» James asked impatiently. «The notary won’t wait.»
«On my way, dear,» she replied, glancing at the mirror. «Half an hour.»

James Thompson stood by the window of his new flat—still technically Emma’s, but soon his. He watched people hurrying below, feeling a mix of euphoria and unease. They did it. They actually did it. Sometimes, waking at night, he couldn’t believe the plan worked so flawlessly. Emma was gone—no alimony, no divorce drama, no property disputes. Just a cup of tea and death.

Guilt gnawed occasionally. They had three years together, good times early on when Emma adored him, cooked his favourite meals, supported him. But she changed—too independent, too career-focused, arguing, standing her ground. After the miscarriage, she withdrew, as if blaming him.
«James, we need to talk,» Sophie said from behind, interrupting his thoughts.

He turned. Sophie stood in the doorway, fidgeting with her dress. Unlike Emma, she always wore dresses at home. He liked that.
«About what?» he asked, irritation creeping in. Today was big; he didn’t need this.
«The flat,» Sophie said hesitantly. «I know it’s early, but maybe we shouldn’t do a full renovation now? It’s expensive, and we could—»
«Sophie,» James cut her off, forcing a gentle tone despite his anger. «Mum and I decided. We’re redoing the place—new furniture, everything. This flat needs to be ours, no traces of the past.»
«But the money?»
«There’s plenty on Emma’s accounts,» he snapped. «Don’t worry your pretty head.»

Sophie nodded, hurt flickering in her eyes. James hugged her, burying his face in her soft blonde hair. «It’ll be fine, babe. Trust me.» Sophie melted into him, trusting and pliant—qualities Emma never had.

The doorbell rang. Margaret.
«Go open it,» James told Sophie. «And get ready. You’re coming to the notary. Show everyone I’ve got support.»

While Sophie answered the door, James adjusted his tie and jacket. Today, he needed to look impeccable—a man who, despite tragedy, carried on with dignity. Margaret swept in like royalty, head high, in her new dress, hair perfect.
«James, ready?» she asked, eyeing him critically. «Fix your tie. It’s crooked.»

He complied, swallowing irritation. His mother always controlled everything, but today he was grateful. Without her, the plan might’ve failed.
«Sophie, joining us?» Margaret asked, appraising her. «Change that dress; it’s too casual. Something dark, formal. We’re handling inheritance matters.»
«Yes, of course,» Sophie mumbled, retreating to the bedroom.
«How’s she behaving?» Margaret asked quietly once Sophie was gone. «No nosy questions?»
«No,» James replied. «She thinks Emma died of a heart attack.»
«Good,» Margaret nodded. «The less she knows, the better she sleeps.»

James felt a pang of guilt. Sophie didn’t deserve this deception. She was kind, caring. But his mother was right—ignorance was safer.
«What about these books?» he asked, gesturing to Emma’s shelves. «Toss them?»
«Obviously,» Margaret scoffed. «Who needs this rubbish? Keep anything valuable, but the shelves are for nice figurines, family photos.»..