After I Died, My Genius Son and My Forensic Husband went Crazy

As I lay submerged in a cesspool, my body corroding away from the sulfuric acid that had been thrown over me, my genius son, Tobey Hawke, was busy blowing out candles and making a wish.

"I wish Ms. Wilde were my mom. Rachel is as dumb as a pig and doesn't deserve to be my mother."

My husband, Henry Hawke, watched silently from the sidelines, his gaze soft as he wiped the cream off Sophie Wilde's mouth.

They hung up my desperate call for help without a second thought.

"Ms. Wilde went through a lot to come spend time with me, so don't ruin it," Tobey said, not bothering to disguise his irritation.

A week later, my body was discovered.

Henry, the forensic examiner, personally performed the autopsy, with Tobey contributing his razor-sharp deductions.

Together, these two prodigies painstakingly pieced together every gruesome detail of the inhuman torture I had endured—yet they never recognized me as the victim.

——

My corpse was found in a cesspool, severely decomposed, covered in filth, and crawling with maggots.

When Henry arrived on the scene with Tobey in tow, the police officers hardly blinked; they were used to the genius young boy who had inherited his father's extraordinary intelligence.

Tobey immediately pointed out that this wasn't the primary crime scene.

Henry maintained his cool demeanor as he directed the team to retrieve the body, but upon seeing the corpse, he froze for a moment.

Perhaps it was the height and build of the victim that sparked a flicker of familiarity, or maybe it was the sudden realization that he hadn't heard from me in days.

For a brief moment, panic flashed in his eyes, and he nervously fished out his phone while Tobey urged him on.

My phone had long since been discarded; how could he possibly get through?

I watched them with a heavy heart, torn between hoping he would discover my identity and praying it wouldn't happen in front of our child.

At that precise moment, the call was surprisingly connected.

Tobey, not missing a beat, sweetly chimed in first.

"Ms. Wilde, Dad and I are going to be busy tonight. So be careful all by yourself, okay? We'll come home after we finish up. Love you!"

Henry smiled slightly, a mix of warmth and seriousness, as he advised Sophie, "Don't go out alone tonight. It's not safe."

"Got it! You and Tobey take care too. Tobey, come give me a kiss!"

After their affectionate exchange, once the call ended, I saw Henry send a text to Sophie: [I can't lose you again.]

It struck me then that his concern stemmed from hearing about another young woman falling victim to violence.

Detective Paul Ruffalo asked, "Tobey, aren't you going to call your mom? You probably won't be heading home tonight."

Tobey's expression hardened at the mention of me. "What's there to say to her? She's always clinging onto us like a leech. It's so annoying!"

He resented anyone mentioning that I was his mother simply because I didn't live up to his standards of excellence—a far cry from the brilliant mom he dreamed of.

Henry snorted dismissively as if to agree. "She's so selfish—who's worried about her safety?"

I gazed helplessly at the two irritated faces before me; they had always disliked seeing me around. But this time, I sensed it might be our last encounter.

After their tireless work, the autopsy was completed on the night of the discovery.

Henry meticulously drafted the report as Tobey watched intently, fiddling with a skeletal model in his hands.

"Female victim, aged 25-30, multiple fractures throughout her body, and the skull was severed. Body shows extensive decay, with an old scar on the abdomen, so identity can't be confirmed without DNA matching."

That's when Tobey interjected, "Dad, is there any chance the victim could have had a child?"

If they could confirm that detail, narrowing down the possibilities would be much easier.

That scar was indeed from my C-section when I gave birth to Tobey, but Henry didn't recognize it.

After finishing the report, Henry's phone rang. It was his mother, Zoe Hawke.

"Henry! When are you guys coming home? Tobey's grown so much; maybe it's time for a second baby..."

Tobey made a face, clearly exasperated. "Grandma, Rachel is just lazy and greedy! With an IQ that low, she'd be high-risk for pregnancy. Thank goodness I take after Dad; what if she has another clueless kid like herself this time?"

Henry pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly feeling the weight of the conversation. "Mom, I don't have any feelings for Rachel. Once Tobey is a bit older, we're getting a divorce, so stop dreaming about things that aren't going to happen."

Zoe said, her voice barely above a whisper, "You can't blame Rachel entirely for what happened; I thought you two... well, I thought you were fine these years... Tobey, how can you speak to your Mom like that?"

"Mom?" Tobey hadn't used that term for me in ages; he always called me by my first name now. Henry was already on edge from a sleepless night, and his impatience was bubbling over.

"Should I blame her, or should I blame Sophie? Sophie finally comes back to the country, and Rachel's whispering poison in your ear about her? Just drop it; I can't stand hearing her name again."

After he hung up, Tobey blinked at Henry with wide eyes. "Dad, what's this about you and Rachel getting a divorce? You don't have to wait for me to grow up!"

Henry rose and stretched. "Let's head home; I'll pick up some breakfast for Sophie."

I watched as they expertly picked out all of Sophie's favorite foods, a lump of damp cotton settling in my chest.

It is clear how caring they could be, so why was it that I never got what I liked at home?

And I hadn't whispered anything about Sophie to anyone, nor had I thrown Sophie under the bus. The truth was, I had been dead for a long time—ever since Sophie invited me that day.