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

Margaret Thompson jolted awake at 3:47 a.m. to a sharp doorbell. Wrapping herself in a robe, she wondered if something happened to James or Sophie. Peering through the peephole, she saw two uniformed men. Her heart skipped.
«Who is it?» she asked, keeping her voice steady.
«Police. Open up, Margaret Thompson.»

Her mind raced. No escape—fourth floor. If she didn’t open, they’d break in.
«One moment,» she called, calculating. «I’ll get dressed.»

She dashed to the bedroom, grabbed a small packet of leftover barbiturates from her jewellery box, and ran to the bathroom. She dumped the powder in the toilet and flushed twice. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

Four men stood there—two in MET uniforms, two in plain clothes.
«Margaret Thompson?» one in plain clothes said, flashing a badge. «Captain Morris. You’re under arrest for attempted murder of Emma Jane Thompson and fraud.»
«Utter nonsense!» she snapped, feigning outrage. «My daughter-in-law died of a heart attack. There’s a medical report.»
«Stay calm,» Morris said coolly. «We’re searching the premises and taking you for questioning.»

Her spine chilled. Something had gone horribly wrong.
«I demand a solicitor,» she said firmly.
«Your right,» Morris nodded. «You can call one at the station.»

As officers searched, Margaret sat on her sofa, wrapped in her robe, thoughts frantic. How did they know? Did James slip up? Or Sophie?
«Is my son arrested too?» she asked, masking fear with concern.
«Yes,» Morris said. «Thirty minutes ago.»

Her lips tightened. If they had both, it was serious. But what proof could they have?
«Sir,» an officer called to Morris. «Found powder residue in the bathroom drain. Looks like barbiturates.»
Morris gave Margaret a faint smirk. «Into drugs, Mrs. Thompson?»
«It’s sleeping pills,» she exclaimed. «For insomnia. I have a prescription… a friend got them.»
«Right,» Morris said. «Forensics will tell. Get ready, we’re going.»

As they escorted her out, neighbours gawked. Nina Davis, Sophie’s mother, rushed over. «Val! What’s happening?»
«A mistake, Nina,» Margaret said, holding her dignity. «It’ll clear up. Call Solicitor Brooks; have him meet me at the station on Baker Street.»

In the police car, Margaret saw Nina’s horrified face through the window. Their friendship was over once the truth emerged.

Emma stood at a window across from her flat, watching police lead James away. He looked pathetic in his boxers, face dazed, eyes dull—not the cocky man who handed her poison weeks ago.
«That’s it,» Captain Morris said beside her. «We’ve got them both. Found the barbiturates at his mother’s—the same ones used on you. And your husband’s got all the forged inheritance documents.»
«What about Sophie?» Emma asked.
«Still questioning her, but she seems clueless. Thought you died of a heart attack. She’ll likely be released with restrictions.»

Emma nodded. Oddly, she felt no hatred for Sophie—just pity. Another victim of James and Margaret’s schemes.
«When can I go home?»
«Tomorrow,» Morris said. «We need to finish some evidence collection, but by evening, the flat’s yours.»

Emma smiled faintly. Home. A week ago, it seemed impossible.
«What happens to them now?»
«Investigation, trial,» Morris shrugged. «We’ve got enough for attempted murder and fraud. Given the premeditation, James is looking at 10-12 years, his mother slightly less.»
«They earned it,» Emma said quietly.

That night, she couldn’t sleep. Lying in the safe house, she replayed the past month—how close she came to death, how James and Margaret planned to erase her like garbage, how they lived in her flat, plotting with her money. No triumph, just emptiness and a sense that life now split into «before» and «after.»..