Too Late to Love Me A Mother's Deadly Regret

Aileen flinched as if she'd been startled and burrowed into her mother's arms.

"Mom, this is definitely something she staged. She hired people to put on a show to scare you into cutting ties with me."

She clung tight to her mother's waist, the glint of triumph in her eyes impossible to hide.

"She's so selfish. She doesn't even care about how this affects—"

Cold sweat broke across her mother's forehead in an instant.

She shoved Aileen away and stumbled toward the stretcher.

"Eudora! What are you trying to pull?!"

A police officer stepped forward quickly, blocking her path. His expression was grim.

"Are you Effie Fox? When did your daughter die? Why was this never reported?"

Her mother wrenched free of his grip, her eyes locked on the stretcher.

"I'm Effie Fox! Who told you to bring a dead body into my home?!"

She swayed on her feet, jabbing a finger at the stretcher, her voice sharp with fury.

"Daughter? Whose daughter? My daughter is at home where she belongs! She's in poor health—don't you dare disturb her!"

How could it be?

She remembered it clearly. On the day of the birthday, I was still at home eating cake.

The night before last, Aileen had received threatening texts from me.

A living person couldn't just be dead.

Aileen rushed forward too, eager to explain to the officers, desperate to clear herself of suspicion.

"Officer, my mom and I just got back from a resort. My sister's been home the whole time. How could she be dead?"

She dug her phone out of her bag and pulled up the anonymous chat window—the one from her so-called admirer.

"These are threatening messages my sister sent me the night before last, after eleven. And this photo—she slipped it into my pocket three days ago. There's no way she's dead."

The cameras in the reporters' hands flashed without pause.

On the front steps, a gray-haired officer rose slowly to his feet.

He pulled off his gloves and regarded Aileen as she rambled on. Then his gaze drifted to the photo in her hand. His tone was level.

"You're saying you received this message the night before last?"

He walked to the stretcher and folded back one corner of the white sheet, revealing my face—already tinged blue-green.

"The body has begun to decompose. Lividity is fixed and does not blanch under pressure. There is visible discoloration across the abdomen."

"Preliminary estimate places time of death at a minimum of seventy-two hours ago."

Before the words had fully settled, he took the photo from Aileen's hand. His gaze swept between her and her mother.

Each word fell distinct and separate, his voice so calm it made the skin crawl.

"In other words, she died three days ago. Around seven in the evening."

"So tell me—how does someone who's already dead send you threatening messages?"

"Are we dealing with a ghost?"