Chapter 9 - The Husband I Buried

Now

The café on the corner was quiet, all brushed wood and low music, the kind of place people went when they didn’t want to be overheard.

It wasn’t empty, but it was deliberately muted. Voices stayed low, bodies angled inward.

Perfect.

Rebecca wrapped her hands around her mug as if it were anchoring her to the table. She hadn’t taken a sip since we sat down. Steam curled upward, untouched, the smell of coffee sharp and grounding in the space between us.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘For what you did back there. You were amazing.’ Her eyes crinkled faintly at the edges. Grateful. ‘I thought they could just . . . keep me for as long as they wanted,’ she said.

‘They can’t,’ I said. ‘Not without charging you.’

She shook her head slowly, her expression shifting. She picked at the texture on the mug with a manicured thumbnail. ‘They haven’t yet,’ she said, ‘but they think I did it. It’s only a matter of time before they do.’

‘Rebecca,’ I said, leaning back slightly, giving her space while keeping my voice steady. ‘Why are you so sure they’re going to arrest you? I need you to tell me everything. Start from the beginning. What was Brad like?’

She inhaled slowly, deeply, like she was bracing herself for impact. For a moment I thought she might deflect, maybe change the subject. Instead, she closed her eyes.

I relaxed into my chair, consciously softening my posture. This wasn’t an interrogation. This was a consultation. My job wasn’t to corner her – it was to listen without judgment, to let her reveal herself at her own pace.

Rebecca opened her eyes again and stared into her coffee, as if the answer might be waiting there.

‘He was—’ She stopped. Restarted. ‘He was admired. People liked him.’

It wasn’t the description I would expect from a grieving widow, but people grieved and loved differently, and it wasn’t my place to judge.

Not yet.

‘Liked him?’ I prompted, hoping she’d continue.

She nodded. ‘Yes. Very much. He was generous with his time. He was disciplined. Reliable. Structured.’ Her mouth curved faintly, almost fondly, but then her tone shifted. ‘He believed in rules. Not just following them. Living by them. He said most people were lost because they didn’t have enough guidance.’

My breath stalled for half a second. Luis had believed in structure, too. In control, though he’d never call it that.

‘And what do you think?’ I asked.

Her smile faltered.

‘He said I had potential,’ she said, not quite answering my question. ‘That I was strong, but unfocused. He thought I needed direction.’

The words sat between us, heavy with implication. I waited. Silence was often more useful than questions once someone started talking.

‘What did that look like?’ I asked finally.

Rebecca traced the rim of her mug with her thumb in slow, deliberate circles. ‘He helped me make better choices,’ she said. ‘What to wear. Who to spend time with. What ideas were worth entertaining and which ones were distractions . . .’

She hesitated then, as if checking my reaction.

‘He said he wanted me to have the freedom to be myself,’ she continued. ‘My real self.’

‘Did you agree with him?’ I asked, careful to keep my tone neutral. I was pretty sure I already knew the answer, but I needed to hear it from her.

‘At first,’ she confessed. Her shoulders sagged, as if admitting to this had cost her something. ‘It felt . . . comforting. Like he loved me for everything I was. The good days, the bad.’ She let out a small, ironic laugh. ‘I felt like a princess.’

Her eyes flicked up to mine, searching. For what, I couldn’t quite tell. Understanding? Someone to believe in her?

‘I know it sounds stupid,’ she added quickly. ‘But I was exhausted. I’d spent my twenties taking care of my mom. She had cancer. Everything revolved around her appointments, her medication. I watched her fade anyway.’ Her voice wavered, just barely. ‘It was nice to let someone else decide things for a while.’

‘I can see the appeal,’ I said honestly.

Because I could.

Because I had.

It was nice being taken care of, feeling loved. And everyone needed a break sometimes. I gave her a moment before continuing.

‘And later?’ I asked. ‘How were things between you and Brad later?’

She stared down at her untouched coffee. The steam had thinned now, the surface gone still.

‘Later,’ she said slowly, ‘it felt necessary to go along with what Brad wanted. To keep the peace.’

Necessary.

The word echoed in my head.

‘He was a great guy most of the time,’ she continued. ‘But he had a temper. What used to feel like love became something else. It was like he had to decide everything.’

She paused. Swallowing.

‘It didn’t happen all at once,’ she said. ‘That’s the thing. It was gradual. So gradual I didn’t realize what was happening until I was already adjusting myself to fit around him.’

I wrote it down. Not because it was incriminating.

But because it was familiar.

‘Did anyone else see this side of him?’ I asked, glancing up from my notes. ‘Friends? Family?’

She shook her head. ‘He was good at hiding what he was.’