Chapter 2: The Message From The Past
I stared at the message on my phone until the screen dimmed.
*“Matthew, I know what they did.””*
For five months, I had convinced myself that I was alone.
That nobody could see what was happening.
That every person who entered my room believed the same lie my wife had created—that I was nothing more than a broken man waiting for a miracle that would never come.
But someone knew.
Someone knew I was awake.
Someone knew Beatriz and Alvin were planning something.
My fingers hovered over the phone screen, trembling from exhaustion.
I needed to respond.
I needed to know who was on the other side.
But fear stopped me.
Because there was one possibility I couldn’t ignore.
What if this was another trap?
What if Beatriz had discovered I could move?
What if this was a test?
A cruel way to confirm whether I was still trapped inside my own body?
I stared at the unknown number.
My heart pounded.
Then another message appeared.
*“Don’t reply if you think they can see your phone.””*
My breathing stopped.
The person knew.
They knew I was cautious.
They knew I had to hide.
I slowly moved my fingers.
One movement at a time.
Typing was painful.
Every letter felt like lifting a weight.
But after nearly a minute, I managed to send three words.
*“Who are you?””*
The reply came quickly.
*“Someone who should have warned you sooner.””*
My eyes stayed fixed on the screen.
I waited.
A minute passed.
Then another.
Finally, another message arrived.
*“It’s Clara.””*
The name hit me like a punch.
Clara Whitmore.
My father’s former accountant.
The woman who handled my family’s financial records for almost fifteen years.
The woman who disappeared six months before my accident.
The woman Beatriz claimed had stolen money from the farm and run away.
I remembered that night.
Beatriz had sat across from me at the kitchen table, tears in her eyes.
“She betrayed us,” she had said.
I believed her.
Because why wouldn’t I?
Clara had worked with my father before me. She knew every account, every investment, every piece of property we owned.
She was family.
Or at least, I thought she was.
I typed slowly.
*“You disappeared.””*
The response came after several seconds.
*“I was forced to.””*
My fingers froze.
Then:
*“Beatriz found out I discovered what she was doing.””*
The room suddenly felt colder.
I looked toward the bedroom door.
Every shadow seemed dangerous.
Every sound seemed like footsteps approaching.
I typed:
*“What did you find?””*
The three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Whoever was writing was choosing their words carefully.
Finally:
*“Your wife has been moving money for years.””*
My stomach tightened.
Years.
Not weeks.
Not months.
Years.
*“How much?””*
Clara replied:
*“I don’t know the full amount. But I know it wasn’t enough for her. That’s why she needs the farm.””*
I looked around my bedroom.
The room where I had spent countless nights beside Beatriz.
The room where she held my hand after my father died.
The room where she promised me we would grow old together.
How many of those moments had been fake?
How long had she been planning this?
Before I could type another question, Clara sent another message.
*“Matthew, you need to listen carefully.””*
I waited.
*“The crash was not random.””*
My entire body went cold.
I already knew.
Some part of me had known since I heard Alvin’s name.
But seeing the words made it real.
The crash.
The icy mountain road.
The guardrail.
The broken glass.
The endless darkness.
All of it had been arranged.
My phone nearly slipped from my fingers.
I forced myself to breathe.
Then I typed:
*“Proof.””*
One word.
Because I had learned something important in five months.
Truth without proof meant nothing.
A person could scream the truth until their voice disappeared, and nobody would believe them.
Especially not when the people standing against you were your wife, your brother, and a respected doctor.
Clara answered:
*“I have some.””*
My pulse quickened.
*“Where?””*
*“Hidden.””*
I waited.
*“Where?””*
This time, her reply took longer.
*“Somewhere Beatriz will never look.””*
I almost laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because after five months of helplessness, I finally felt like I had a weapon.
Small.
Fragile.
But real.
Then Clara sent one more message.
*“Matthew, there’s something you need to know about Friday.””*
My fingers moved faster.
*“What?””*
The reply appeared.
*“The Aspen sale isn’t the real plan.””*
I stared at the screen.
Another message followed.
*“It’s a distraction.””*
My heart raced.
*“From what?””*
The typing bubble appeared.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
Then:
*“Your life insurance.””*
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
The farm.
The property.
The money.
It wasn’t just about what I owned.
It was about what I was worth dead.
I thought about the life insurance policy Beatriz insisted we buy after Sofia was born.
“Just in case something happens,” she had said.
At the time, I thought she was being responsible.
A good mother.
A loving wife.
Now those words sounded like a confession.
The bedroom door suddenly creaked.
My eyes snapped toward it.
Someone was coming.
I dropped the phone onto the blanket and forced my hand still.
The screen remained dark.
A few seconds later, the door opened.
“Matthew?””
Beatriz.
Her voice was soft.
Almost loving.
That was the most terrifying part.
She walked into the room carrying a cup of coffee.
She always did that in the mornings.
For years.
A small ritual.
Coffee for me.
Tea for her.
Before the accident, she would sit beside me and tell me about her day.
Now she brought coffee to a man she was planning to kill.
“I hope you can hear me,” she whispered.
My heart stopped.
Not because I thought she knew.
Because of the way she said it.
Like she was talking to someone buried alive.
She placed the cup on the nightstand.
Then she sat beside me.
Her fingers brushed my hair away from my forehead.
A gesture that once would have made me feel loved.
Now it made my skin crawl.
“You know, Matthew,” she said quietly, “I really did love you once.””
I remained still.
She sighed.
“I wish things could have been different.””
Her thumb moved across my cheek.
Then she leaned closer.
“But you made it impossible.””
I wanted to scream.
Impossible?
I was the man who worked sixteen-hour days to keep our farm alive.
I was the man who paid for her mother’s medical treatments.
I was the man who stood beside her when everyone told me I was making a mistake by marrying her.
And now I was the problem?
“You always thought being a good man was enough,” she whispered.
Her voice changed.
The warmth disappeared.
“You never realized people take advantage of good men.””
My fingers curled slightly under the blanket.
She noticed.
My entire body froze.
Beatriz looked down.
For one terrifying second, I thought she saw.
Then she smiled sadly.
“Poor Matthew.””
She stood.
“You probably don’t even know how lucky you are.””
Lucky.
The word burned.
She walked toward the door.
Before leaving, she stopped.
“Oh, and Matthew?””
I waited.
“If somehow you can hear me…”
The room became silent.
She turned back.
Her eyes looked empty.
“Don’t worry.””
A cold smile appeared.
“By Friday, you won’t have to suffer anymore.””
The door closed.
I stayed frozen for several minutes.
Then my phone vibrated again.
Clara.
One new message.
*“She was testing you.””*
My blood ran cold.
I typed:
*“What do you mean?””*
The answer came instantly.
*“She moved your hand before she left.””*
I looked down.
My fingers.
The same fingers I had moved to send Sofia the warning.
The same fingers I had used to answer Clara.
Then another message appeared.
*“Matthew, she knows something changed.””*
I stared at those words.
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Because for five months, I had been invisible.
A ghost.
A man nobody feared.
But now my wife knew there was a chance I was coming back.
And if Beatriz knew…
She would not wait until Friday.
A final message appeared from Clara.
*“You need to get out of that house before she comes back tonight.””*
I looked at my useless body.
At the door.
At the hallway beyond it.
I couldn’t walk.
I couldn’t speak.
I couldn’t even lift my head.
Then my phone lit up again.
This time, it wasn’t Clara.
It was Sofia.
My daughter.
The message was only one sentence.
*“Dad, I’m coming home tonight. I know Mom is lying.””*
And beneath it was another message.
May you like
One that made my blood freeze.
*“But Dad… someone already tried to stop me.””*
