Our Daughter Died, My Husband Was Devastated

A serial killer was on the loose in the city, chopping up victims.

I just couldn't risk my daughter riding the school bus anymore.

So I'd taken to driving her to school and back every day.

My husband thought I was just being paranoid, until one day, swamped with work, he offered to pick her up after school himself.

Never did I imagine that day would be the last time I'd see her.

I was left holding her lifeless body, sobbing until I nearly blacked out.

Then I caught a video he'd liked on Instagram—him and his ex, hands locked, moonlit stroll, captioned: [With you by my side, I'm invincible.]

I took a screenshot and confronted him: [You missed picking up Nia just to be with her?]

He shot back: [Nia can make her own way home, she's a big girl now. But Sienna, she's scared of the dark, she needs me there.]

***

The second I heard from the cops, I felt like my world was crumbling.

Never would I have thought, the girl who's called me “mom” for all these years, would be gone just like that, in the blink of an eye.

I barged into the precinct, having cried out all my tears on the drive over.

All I felt then was this bitter ache, my whole body numb.

A rookie cop with tear-streaked makeup grabbed my arm. "Are you Nia Salome's mother?"

"After running the DNA, we can confirm the victim was your daughter, Nia Salome."

She handed over Nia's phone, and in a trance, I took it.

There was a half-typed text: [Mom, didn't you say Dad was picking me up? Why isn't he here? Everyone's left. I guess I'll head home. Oh, and don't spill the beans about the surprise I've planned for his birthday—it's in a few days. Plus, I aced the competition again! Love you tons, Mom. See you in a bit.]

The message ended abruptly, unsent.

My Nia was always such a well-behaved kid. Remembering her lively, adorable face, compared to the mutilated remains before me, brought on a fresh wave of tears.

I dashed forward, clutching what was left of her to my chest.

The stench was horrific, but it didn't even register.

The officers tried comforting me, promising they'd catch the killer soon.

But I was out of my mind, unable to let go, because this might be the last time I ever held my precious girl.

Once they finished all the ID verifications, they sent me home in a police car, and on the ride, I texted Robert one last thing: [We're done. I want a divorce.]