Every Boyfriend I Bring Home Dies

My mom was frantic, panic written all over her face.

"We'll cooperate fully with the investigation, officer. My daughter Deborah is studying for the civil service exam. You have to get to the bottom of this. Please don't pin it on innocent people!"

Chief Finch reassured her over and over.

"Mrs. Henson, don't worry. We'll do everything in our power to solve this case."

"If we can confirm you and your daughter had nothing to do with it, you'll both be released."

But we waited until our stomachs were growling, and they still hadn't found a single thing.

Even the forensic examiners with decades of experience were shaking their heads.

"This is bizarre. We can't determine a cause of death."

"Same as the previous three bodies. Clearly sudden death, but no explanation."

The city's most renowned forensic team was brought in to examine the body, but none of them could crack the mystery either.

Another boyfriend, dead in our home.

My mom and I were white as sheets, clinging to each other, trembling.

Tears streamed down my mother's face. She finally broke, letting out a wail of pure despair.

"God, what did we do to deserve this?"

"Is my daughter cursed?"

"Why does every boyfriend die? Why do they all die in our home?"

Before long, the task force turned their attention to me and walked over.

"You're Deborah Henson? Today's victim, Richard Finch, died in almost the exact same manner as the previous three. Think carefully—was there anything they all had in common?"

I fought back the grief and thought hard for a moment.

"If there's one thing they had in common..."

"They were all my boyfriends. Other than that, they didn't know each other. I don't think there's any—"

I shook my head, but something flickered in my mind. I stopped short.

"Wait. I just remembered!"

"They all ate the dumplings my mom made!"

The moment the words left my mouth, every pair of eyes in the task force snapped toward me.

"Dumplings?"

Just like the three times before, they zeroed in on my mother's dumplings.

And just like every time before, the search turned up nothing.

The dumplings offered no clues whatsoever.

"Eating dumplings and then dying? Did someone poison them?"

The task force members studied my mother and me with cold, appraising eyes.

"We're innocent, officer!" my mom cried.

"And we're not stupid! If we really wanted to kill someone, would we make the dumplings ourselves and let him die right here in our own home? Do we have a death wish?"

"And even setting all that aside—he was my daughter's boyfriend! He could've been my future son-in-law! What possible motive would we have?"

Chief Finch cut her off, his voice calm and measured.

"The dumplings from that evening—are there any left?"

"Yes!"

My mom jumped in immediately. "I made extra filling that day, so I wrapped a whole batch more and put them in the freezer."

"And everything happened so fast that night. The leftover dumplings are still in the pot. I never had a chance to clean up."

So the team inspected every last dumpling my mother had made.

They tested the dough she'd kneaded for the wrappers. They tested the filling she'd chopped and seasoned by hand. They tested the finished dumplings, every single one—checked and screened for poison.

"Well? Find anything?"

The forensic analyst shook his head.

"No trace of any toxic substance."

"These are perfectly normal dumplings."

A young task force member named Justin Dickerson suddenly lifted his head and fixed me with a cold stare.

"Deborah. You'd better come clean."

"Why does your mother insist on making dumplings every single time?"

That was something I'd been wondering myself. I pulled my mom over so she could explain.

My mom slapped her thigh, her face a mask of bitter grievance.