Amelia's life was a carefully woven tapestry of routine and love—at least, that's what she thought. Every morning, her husband Daniel kissed her cheek before heading to the office, leaving her to her quiet world of painting commissions and tending to their suburban home. But one misplaced phone call unraveled it all.
That day, Daniel had accidentally pocket-dialed her during his lunch break. At first, she thought nothing of the muffled background noise until she heard her husband's laughter—a sound she hadn't heard in months. Then came the unmistakable voice of another woman, light and flirtatious, whispering his name.
The truth hit her like a freight train.
That evening, Amelia didn't confront him. Instead, she played her role perfectly: the doting wife, the quiet listener. She smiled as Daniel spoke about his "long day at work," all while the gears in her mind turned.
Amelia followed Daniel the next afternoon, watching as he pulled into the driveway of a secluded rental cabin. She waited in her car, gripping the steering wheel, her breath shallow. Through the window, she saw him embrace the woman—a younger, glossier version of herself.
She spent the next few days in cold preparation. No more tears. No more wondering why. Amelia rented a van, filled it with supplies, and studied crime podcasts late into the night. If Daniel could be methodical in his deceit, so could she.
It was a stormy evening when Amelia put her plan into motion. She knew Daniel would be with his mistress. The rain masked the sound of her van as she parked it near the cabin. She wore gloves, a raincoat, and a calm expression as she knocked on the door.
The young woman, Megan, answered first. She barely had time to register Amelia's presence before a sharp strike sent her crumpling to the floor. Daniel rushed to the scene, but Amelia was faster. In the chaos that followed, she ensured there were no witnesses.
Amelia meticulously cleaned the cabin, scrubbing every surface. She loaded the bodies into the van and drove to an abandoned quarry miles away, where she had already scoped out a deep pit. The rain continued to pour, washing away her tracks as she disposed of the evidence.
Back home, she burned her clothes and tucked herself into bed just before dawn. When the police knocked on her door days later, she cried convincingly, playing the heartbroken wife who had no idea where her husband had gone.
Weeks turned into months. The case went cold. Daniel's disappearance was labeled a tragic mystery. But Amelia's life didn't return to normal. She became jumpy, avoiding mirrors and jumping at every knock on the door.
One day, she found a note on her doorstep. It read:
"I know what you did."
Amelia's hands trembled as she read the note. The world spun. She quickly scanned the street outside but saw no one—just the usual suburban stillness. She tucked the note into her pocket and locked the door, double-checking each latch.
For weeks, she lived in paranoia. The note haunted her thoughts. Who could have left it? Had she been careless? She meticulously replayed every moment of her crime, searching for mistakes. Yet, no matter how much she analyzed, there was no clear answer.
Then, the second note arrived. This one was taped to her car windshield.
"Meet me at the cabin. Tomorrow. Midnight."
Amelia's chest tightened. Whoever this was, they had to be bluffing—right? She could ignore it, pretend it didn't exist. But deep down, she knew she couldn't let it go. If someone knew the truth, she had to deal with it.
The next night, Amelia arrived at the cabin with the same van she had used to dispose of the bodies. The area was silent, the air thick with tension. She parked far enough away to avoid detection and approached cautiously, a small flashlight in one hand and a knife hidden in her jacket pocket.
The cabin door creaked as she pushed it open. Inside, the air was stale, the room untouched since the night she'd cleaned it. On the dining table, she found a single object: a phone, its screen glowing with a countdown timer. Ten seconds.
Her breath caught as the timer hit zero, and the phone began to play a video.
It was grainy but unmistakable. It showed Amelia dragging Daniel's body toward the van, her face illuminated briefly by the van's headlights. A chill ran down her spine. Someone had been watching.
"What do you want?" she whispered, turning toward the empty room.
"That's the question, isn't it?"
The voice came from the shadows. A figure emerged—a man in his late thirties, rugged, with a cruel smile. He introduced himself as Liam, Megan's older brother.
"You thought you could just wipe them away like they didn't exist?" Liam hissed. "Megan may have been a fool to love your husband, but she was my sister. I want justice."
Amelia gripped the knife in her pocket tighter. "If you wanted justice, you'd have gone to the police," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "So, what do you really want?"
Liam chuckled darkly. "You're smarter than I thought. Money. Lots of it. You'll pay, or that video goes to the cops."
Amelia's mind raced. She didn't have the kind of money he was asking for. But more than that, she knew she couldn't leave this cabin without silencing Liam.
As Liam loomed closer, taunting her, Amelia struck. She lunged with the knife, aiming for his throat. But Liam was prepared—he dodged, grabbing her wrist and slamming her against the wall. The two struggled in a vicious fight, each trying to gain the upper hand.
Liam was stronger, but Amelia was desperate. She managed to grab a shard of broken glass from the floor and drove it into his neck. Blood sprayed, and Liam staggered backward, choking before collapsing.
Amelia stood over his body, gasping for air, her hands slick with blood.
She knew she couldn't panic. Methodically, she repeated the process: clean, dispose, cover her tracks. But this time, the weight of her actions felt heavier. The paranoia that had haunted her before grew unbearable.
Months passed, and Amelia lived in constant fear of being discovered. Every knock at the door, every phone call, sent her heart racing. And then, one day, she received another note.
"This isn't over."