I buried my daughter and watched her husband abandon their girls at the grave, never knowing they were already holding the proof to destroy him.

The next six months were a blur.

The trial was the biggest Savannah had seen in fifty years. Every day, the courtroom was packed. Every night, the local news led with the latest developments.

The evidence was overwhelming.

The notebook. The recordings. Rose’s affidavit. The lab results showing the poison in her system. The testimony from the doctor who had written the prescriptions—he cut a deal and testified against Arthur in exchange for immunity. The testimony from the two men Arthur had hired to burn down my house—they were caught on camera, and they too testified against him to avoid life sentences.

Arthur tried everything. He claimed the recordings were faked. He claimed the notebook was forged. He claimed Rose had been mentally unstable and had poisoned herself to frame him.

No one believed him.

The jury deliberated for four hours.

They came back with a verdict. Guilty on all counts.

The judge sentenced him to life in prison without the possibility of parole. Plus an additional seventy-five years for the arson and attempted murder charges. He would die in prison. Good.

Crystal got twenty years. She would be out when she was almost fifty. By then, no one would remember her name. No one would care.

We did not go to the sentencing. We did not need to see Arthur one more time. We were busy rebuilding.

The insurance money from the house came through. Arthur’s arrest voided any claim he might have had. Margaret’s lawyer made sure of that. We bought a smaller house on the other side of town. New. Safe. No ghosts. No memories of screaming matches or poison in oatmeal. Just blank walls waiting for new memories.

Lucy started seventh grade. She made the honor roll. She joined the debate team. She was already talking about law school. She wanted to be a prosecutor. To help people like her mother.

Rachel discovered she had a talent for art. Her drawings—raw, emotional, powerful—won awards at the county fair. A local gallery wanted to show her work. She was thinking about art school.

April was still April. Bright. Funny. Fearless. She started first grade and immediately became the most popular girl in her class. She told everyone who would listen about her “angel mommy” who watched over her.

And me? I went back to the library part-time. I told stories to the children on Saturday mornings. I taught them that good always triumphs over evil. That the truth always comes out. That even the smallest person can change the world.

We were happy. As happy as we could be, considering the hole Rose had left behind. We visited her grave every Sunday. We brought white lilies. We told her about our week. We knew she could hear us.

Then, six months to the day after the verdict, the letter arrived.

It was postmarked from the state prison.

Lucy found it in the mailbox. She recognized Arthur’s handwriting immediately. She brought it into the house and dropped it on the kitchen table like it was a dead rat.

“It’s from him,” she said.

Rachel and April were in the living room watching cartoons. I pulled Lucy into the kitchen and closed the door.

“What does he want?” she asked.

I picked up the envelope. It was thick. Heavy.

“There’s only one way to find out.”

I opened it.

The first page was a letter. Ten pages, actually. Handwritten front and back.

I started reading.

At first, it was what I expected. Denial. Rants about how the trial was unfair. How we had all conspired against him. How he was an innocent man rotting in prison.

Then it got strange.

He started writing about Rose. Not about killing her. About loving her. About how she was the only woman who had ever really understood him. About how he had made a terrible mistake. How Crystal had manipulated him. How Crystal was the real mastermind behind everything.

Lucy read over my shoulder. She snorted. “Typical. Blame the woman. Always.”

Then we got to the last page. And everything changed.

There’s something you need to know. Something I’ve never told anyone. Not even Crystal. Rose wasn’t the first.

I felt the blood drain from my face.

Lucy grabbed the letter from my hand. She read the words out loud, her voice trembling.

“There was another wife. Before Rose. Her name was Elena. We were married in Las Vegas when I was twenty-two. She was twenty. Everyone said it was too young. They were right. She started asking questions about my business. About the money I was making. She threatened to go to the police. So I took care of her. Same way I took care of Rose. The doctors said it was a brain aneurysm. No one suspected a thing. She’s buried in Las Vegas. Under the name Elena Maria Carter. I never told Rose. I never told anyone. But you deserve to know. Because Rose wasn’t the only one. And if I’m going to spend the rest of my life in prison, I’m taking the truth with me... or not. You decide. Do you let another woman rest in peace without justice? Or do you dig her up too? Just like you dug up everything else about me. You always did like to dig, Charles.”

Lucy dropped the letter. It fluttered to the table.

“He killed someone else,” she whispered. “Another woman. Before Mom.”

I sat down heavily. My mind was racing.

Elena Maria Carter. Married to Arthur when he was twenty-two. Died of a brain aneurysm. Buried in Las Vegas.

Arthur had been thirty-five when he married Rose. Thirteen years between marriages. Thirteen years he had never explained. Thirteen years of his life that were a blank.

We had always wondered why a man as charming and handsome as Arthur had waited so long to get married. He had told Rose he was “focused on his career.” That he “hadn’t found the right woman yet.”

Lies. All lies.

He had been married before. And he had murdered his first wife exactly the same way he had murdered Rose.

Lucy picked up the letter again. She read the last part once more.

“He’s playing with us,” she said. “He wants us to go to Las Vegas. He wants to cause more pain. That’s why he sent this. He knows we can’t ignore it.”

She was right. We could not ignore it. If Elena was real, if Arthur had really killed her, then her family deserved to know. She deserved justice. Just like Rose.

But there was something else in the letter. Something I had almost missed.

Tucked between the last two pages was a single photograph.

It was old. Faded. A young woman with dark hair and dark eyes, smiling at the camera. She was beautiful. She looked... familiar.

She looked like Rose.

Not exactly. But the same eyes. The same smile. The same bone structure.

Arthur had not just married twice. He had married the same woman twice. Two different people, but they could have been sisters.