I Buried My Daughter, Then My Husband Buried Me

The morning light hit her hair, his arm was around her waist, and their bodies moved close. Too close.

I felt my stomach twist.

Justine turned when he heard me. His face went pale for a moment, but then he forced a smile. There was a lipstick mark near his mouth. Bright. Obvious. He didn’t even try to wipe it off.

“Cerise, why are you here?”

Justine spoke before she could answer. “She just wanted to come see you. She heard you were out. Cerise helped me a lot while you were… gone. She even visited the cemetery every year. Took care of the grave. Brought flowers. Toys. Even ballet shoes.”

For a second, I couldn’t breathe. My chest felt tight, my heart pounding hard enough to drown everything else out.

“What did you say?” I whispered. Then my voice rose before I could stop it. “What right does she have to go there?! Huh! What right does she have to visit my daughter’s grave?”

I could feel myself shaking. “No murderer has the right to stand there. None.”

Justine didn’t look at me. His eyes went to the floor, his voice quiet. “I already asked someone to perform a ritual. The child has acknowledged her as her godmother.”

Everything inside me went still.

It felt like the blood in my veins turned into knives. The fucking what? A godmother?

Then Cerise started walking toward me. She was holding a bouquet, “Emily,” she said softly, handing it to me. “These are for you. Congratulations on your new life.”

The smell of those flowers hit me before I could even answer. Too sweet. Too strong. My skin started to crawl. It spread fast, an unbearable itch, crawling up my arms, my neck, my face.

And all I could think was that everything about her—her voice, her smile, her scent—was poison.

I slapped the flowers out of her hand. They hit the floor, petals scattering across the tiles. I didn’t even have the strength to yell. What was the point? They’d already taken everything from me.

I turned around and took a few shaky steps, but then I heard it: Cerise’s voice behind me.

“0621!”

The word cut through me. My body reacted before my brain could. “Here!” I said automatically.

For a second, I didn’t understand why I said it. Then I heard her laugh. That sharp, mocking laugh.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Emily,” she said between giggles. “I heard people who’ve been in prison react like that, so I wanted to try it. Just a joke.”

I turned around slowly. Justine was standing there, his hand on her arm.

“That’s enough,” he said quietly. “Don’t make jokes like that again.”

Cerise blinked up at him, smiling. “Okay.”

The way they looked at each other made my stomach twist. Right in front of me, they still couldn’t stop. Still flirting, still touching, as if I wasn’t even there.

All I could think about was that open box of condoms upstairs. My heart went cold.

.....

By evening, I couldn’t take it anymore. I met Lila at a small restaurant. The light there was dim, warm, familiar.

When she saw me, her eyes widened. “Emily, you look awful. Why don’t you move in with me for a while?”

I shook my head. “No need. Just… help me find the evidence fast. Please.”

She didn’t push. Just ordered a table full of food and said softly, “Eat something. You look like you haven’t eaten in days.”

I barely had time to lift a spoon before I saw her.

Cerise.

She walked in with her daughter, dressed perfectly, smiling as if she owned the world. My heart stopped for a second when I saw the little girl. I couldn’t stop staring.

But she noticed. Of course she noticed.

She pulled her daughter close and said loudly, “Sofie, be good, alright? There’s a murderer here. She killed her own child. If you don’t behave, the police will take you away too.”

I froze.

Then she looked right at me and smiled. “Emily, it’s been ten years. Are you still used to eating out here?”

The whole restaurant went silent. I felt the weight of every single eye turn toward me.

I could hear the whispers.

“That’s her?”

“She killed her daughter?”

“She doesn’t look crazy…”

Their voices cut deeper than knives.

Ten years in prison, and I still hadn’t escaped. When they found out what I’d supposedly done, they all turned on me. Made me clean their mess, eat leftovers from the floor, take beatings that left my skin raw. Every time someone said “child killer,” I felt like dying.

Even now, hearing her say those words, my body started shaking. My throat burned.

Then I heard Lila’s voice—sharp and furious. “Cerise, you’re the murderer!”