I Buried My Daughter, Then My Husband Buried Me

Before I could stop her, she threw a glass of water right into Cerise’s face. Cerise gasped, stumbling back, while her daughter Sofie crying beside her.

And that was when the door opened.

A tall figure walked in, his voice cutting through the chaos. “What’s going on here?”

Justine.

Of course. He always showed up when she needed saving.

The moment he walked in, Cerise’s whole face changed. Her eyes turned red, and she clutched her daughter tight, shaking as if she was the one who’d been wronged.

“I just wanted to treat Emily to dinner,” she said in a trembling voice. “I don’t even know what I did wrong. She got angry and told her friend to hurt my child…”

The little girl pointed straight at me, crying. “Bad woman! You bully my mom! I hate you. I hate you! You killed your own child.”

I froze. My throat tightened. Before I could even speak, Justine’s face turned dark. He stepped forward, placing himself between us like I was some danger to them.

“You’ve had a child before, Emily!” His voice cut through me. “Why can’t you be kind to another one?”

The words hit harder than any slap.

Yes, I’d had a child. My baby. My little girl who used to laugh when Justine threw her in the air. The baby he once held so tenderly, kissing my forehead and whispering, “Thank you for completing my life.”

But he ruined mine.

And then came the voices behind him.

“Isn’t that Emily? The one who went to jail?”

“She used to brag about being a brilliant doctor. Guess she couldn’t save her own kid.”

“Imagine killing your own daughter. What a monster.”

I looked up and saw a few of his colleagues walking in, all staring at me. I didn’t even bother to defend myself. What was the point?

Justine lowered his voice and said coldly, “Go home. Stop embarrassing yourself.”

Cerise smoothed her dress, wiped her face, and started greeting his colleagues like she was the wife of the house.

I grabbed Lila’s wrist before she could speak and pulled her toward the door. I didn’t say anything. My face felt numb.

As we walked out, Justine’s eyes flickered toward me. For a moment, he looked almost human, almost regretful, when he saw the scars on my arms. But he didn’t say a word.

After I sent Lila home, I bought ballons, candles, and small toys. Then I took a taxi to the cemetery.

.....

When I saw the grave, my knees nearly gave out.

Weeds everywhere. The soil was cracked, untouched. No one had been here. Not once.

And then I saw it.

Someone had written two words in red paint across the tombstone: bastard.

I froze. My chest felt tight, my vision went blurry. I stumbled forward and started rubbing the paint with my hands, crying her name. “No, no, no…”

The paint wouldn’t come off. It mixed with my blood until the word stood out darker, redder, uglier.

I kept scrubbing until my palms split open. Until I couldn’t breathe. Until I fell to my knees and screamed.

Then the rain came heavy, cold, soaking everything.

I don’t know how long I cried. By the time I stopped, the sky was gray. I went to find someone to make a new tombstone, cleaned the weeds, wiped the mud off her photo, and lined up the toys in front of her grave.

My voice shook when I whispered, “Mom will make them pay. All of them.”

By the time I got home, the sky was starting to lighten.

The door hadn’t even closed behind me when Justine’s voice came from the living room. “Didn’t I tell you to go home?! Where were you? I called all night! Do you even know—”

He stopped when I walked past him. I didn’t even look his way.

“Today’s our daughter’s death anniversary,” I said quietly.

And before I could take another step, everything went black.

When I came to, I heard a voice through the haze. It sounded soft, tired. Maybe it was him.

“Emily… I’m sorry.”

Then a ringing sound broke through, sharp and real.

I opened my eyes to an empty room. Just a dream.

The phone kept ringing. I reached for it and answered.

When my phone rang, I didn’t even check who it was. My hands were shaking too much. But when I heard Lila’s voice, my chest tightened.

“Emily,” she said, her tone trembling and excited. “I found it. I found proof that Cerise was the one who killed your daughter.”