My act of being a weak, sick woman suddenly stopped being an act. It became a survival race. I had only a few days left, not just to punish them, but to stay alive.
I stopped the recording on my phone. That evidence was more than enough. I slowly got out of bed.
The weakness vanished, replaced by icy, ringing rage. They wanted me to die quietly in my sleep. Well, they were about to have a very loud awakening, and they wouldn’t like it one bit.
The recording became my main trump card. The lawyer found by my trusted employee was exactly who I needed. A man around 40, with a sharp, piercing gaze, he listened to my story silently, never interrupting.
Then he asked to hear the recording. When the last words of my husband ended, he tapped his fingers on the table for a long moment. Finally, he looked up at me, no pity, only the cold gleam of professional excitement in his eyes.
This is more than just fraud, he said firmly. It’s preparation for premeditated murder by conspiracy. We won’t just get your property back.
We’ll put both of them away for a long time. He explained the plan. Just going to the police with the recording was risky.
He could claim it was a stupid joke, that he was playing along with a crazy doctor, that he’d never do such a thing. We needed to catch him on something personal. You’ll have to play your role to the end, the lawyer warned.
To the very final act. Can I do it? I looked at him, and all the weakness I’d so skillfully faked for weeks evaporated. I can, I said firmly.
Tell me what to do. The plan was bold and dangerous, but exactly what I needed. The next day, while he was at work, two quiet young men came to our apartment claiming to be alarm system specialists.
Within an hour, they installed discrete hidden cameras in the living room and bedroom. The lawyer gave me a tiny panic button shaped like a keychain. One press and a SWAT team waiting in a car outside would storm the apartment.
The day was set. The hardest part was sending my daughter away. My girl had stayed by my side constantly, taking an academic leave from university to care for me.
Her presence was breaking all our plans. Two days before the planned arrival with poison, I called her to me. Taking her hand and looking at her with the saddest expression I could muster, I said, my dear, I have one last request.
Your aunt lives alone in another city and has been asking you to visit. Please go see her for me. It will comfort me to know you won’t be alone when I’m gone.
She cried, refusing to leave. I won’t leave you, mom, she repeated. I took the last measure.
This is my last will, I said firmly. If you love me, you will do this. I want you to remember me as I am not.
I didn’t finish, coughing dramatically. He’s standing in the doorway watched approvingly. He even helped convince her and bought her a train ticket for the morning.
When I saw my daughter off at the station, my heart broke. I hugged her and whispered, forgive me, dear.