On our wedding anniversary, I overheard my husband talking to our son. "How about we ship Mommy off somewhere remote, and get a new mommy?" "Okay! I like new mommy best!" Standing outside the door, hearing my son's innocent voice, my blood ran cold. But less than three days later, I saw something utterly terrifying… 01 My husband, the man everyone called a doting dad, crazy about his kid, murdered our son. And I was standing on the balcony of the building across the way, too scared to even breathe. He held Leo by one leg, dangling him out of the fifth-floor balcony window. The dim streetlight from the corner cast half his body in shadow, making him look like some demon straight out of hell, a predatory smile on his face. Leo kicked frantically, begging his dad to let him go. His cries for help seemed to echo faintly across the distance, tearing my heart apart. A sickening thud. Leo fell like a broken kite to the ground below. An involuntary scream ripped from my throat, but I instantly clamped my hand over my mouth. No, if Ethan found out I saw, he'd kill me too. Then there'd be no way to get justice for Leo. But it was too late. Suddenly, Ethan’s gaze snapped towards me. By the moonlight, I could faintly see the smug curl of his lips, the red stains on his hands, as he seemed to count the floors up to my hiding spot. I scrambled back from the balcony railing, shrinking into the corner, trying to disappear into the darkness. But my mom was still in our apartment. Those stains on his hands… could it be…? This was an old mill district apartment complex, the buildings barely thirty feet apart. It was only a five-minute walk from my apartment to this one. Peeking out, I saw the lights in our apartment go dark. I knew he was coming. He knew where I was. A week ago, I’d accidentally discovered Ethan was cheating. The other woman lived somewhere in this same old complex. So, I’d scraped together my savings and rented this place across from our building. Sixth floor. A perfect vantage point to watch everything happening at home. Two days ago, I told Ethan I had to go out of town for work. In reality, I came here to catch him with his mistress, hoping for proof. I never expected to witness… this. A minute had passed. These old buildings didn't have elevators. If I took the stairs, I'd run right into him. What could I do? Suddenly, my eyes landed on a fire extinguisher in the corner. An idea! I smashed the glass on the fire alarm pull station in the hallway, pitched my voice high, and yelled, "Fire!" Within a minute, the hallway was jammed with people scrambling, pushing to get downstairs. I ditched my jacket and blended into the crowd heading down. Suddenly, a hand gripped my wrist. I looked up. Ethan was staring down at me, a sickeningly sweet smile on his face. "What are you doing over here?" 02 Twenty minutes later, fire trucks and police cars rolled into the complex, sirens briefly wailing before falling silent. Residents crowded the courtyard, buzzing about the fire alarm and the potential murder. Through the crowd, I looked towards the patch of grass below our apartment balcony. Police were searching methodically, like a grid search, but there was no sign of anything having fallen, not even a drop of blood. I lowered my eyes, a chill creeping up my spine. Just moments before Ethan grabbed me, I had managed to call 911. I knew he’d find out soon enough it was me. I stood frozen, afraid to move. Because Ethan was watching me, a smile plastered on his face that didn't reach his eyes. "Honey, why are you shaking? You didn't happen to be the one who called the cops, did you?" His breath ghosted over my skin, making me shiver uncontrollably. "Or maybe," he whispered, leaning closer, "you saw something you shouldn't have?" His voice, usually warm, had an icy edge. It was the same handsome face I knew, but right now, it looked terrifyingly unfamiliar. We grew up together in the same group home, childhood sweethearts. After we got married, he handled everything, big or small. Life felt perfect, especially after Leo was born, filling a void I hadn't known I had. I couldn't believe, couldn't wrap my head around the idea, that this man, my Ethan, had killed our child with his own hands. "I'm just… a little tired," I stammered. His voice held a hint of laughter, tinged with mock complaint. "You’re not a kid anymore. Where were you running off to play, anyway?" "Let's go," he said, his voice softening. "I'll take you home." The moment his hand rested on my shoulder, my feet took an involuntary step back. How could he not know I was supposed to be on a business trip? He helped me pack just two days ago. He drove me to the bus station himself. And now he was asking where I’d been playing? My legs suddenly felt weak, like I might collapse right there. 03 He practically dragged me towards our building. The closer we got, the stronger the metallic smell of blood became. Ethan pulled out his keys. The keychain was the same one I gave him when we were dating, a small silver locket. But he fumbled at the lock, trying several keys before finding the right one. None of the first few were even house keys. "Damn, getting old. Can't even remember which key is which," he muttered, seemingly talking to himself. But I knew he was saying it for my benefit. Giving me a plausible, innocent explanation. The suspicion in my gut deepened. I stared hard at his back, trying to see past the facade, trying to figure out who this man really was. The last key finally turned, and the door swung open. The stench of blood hit me like a physical blow. I squeezed my eyes shut, terrified of what I might see, terrified of finding my mother… "What are you waiting for? Come in," he urged from the living room. Taking a deep breath, clutching my phone tightly, I stepped inside. The horrific scene I’d imagined wasn’t there. But the thick, coppery smell was stronger, definitely coming from the kitchen. My eyes kept darting towards the kitchen doorway. I could see a few faint dark droplets on the floor. Trying to act casual, I picked up a glass and walked towards the water cooler, which happened to be closer to the kitchen. As I brought the glass to my lips, my eyes caught sight of something on the kitchen floor – small, fleshy chunks of… something. Two large pots were simmering on the stove, bubbling away. The metallic smell mingled sickeningly with the aroma of cooking meat. Compelled by a morbid curiosity I couldn't control, I lifted one of the heavy lids. Inside, bones simmered in a murky broth. A few dark, coarse hairs clung to one of them. Black hairs. Looking closer, I saw something bobbing on the surface… it looked horrifyingly like a section of a finger bone. My hand trembled violently. The glass slipped, shattering on the floor. Ethan heard the noise and came over. "Clumsy," he said, his voice neutral. I scrambled to pick up the shards, slicing my palm in my haste. Blood dripped onto the floor, mingling with the older stains. His footsteps stopped right beside me. I crouched there, trembling, unable to stand up. "Careful now. You hurt yourself," he said, reaching a hand down towards me. "Get away! Don't touch me!" I shrieked, waving my phone defensively. "Murderer! What did you do with my mother? What did you do with Leo?!" Ethan just stood there, watching me calmly, but I could see a flicker of something dark and cold in his expression. My bleeding hand clutched a jagged piece of glass, holding it in front of me like a shield. "Ethan, I called the police." A short, sharp laugh escaped his lips. He said, "Sarah, you really are clueless, aren't you?" 04 When the police arrived, Ethan was sitting calmly in a chair, just inches away from where I huddled on the floor. "Sarah, the police are here. You don't have to be scared anymore. Get up off the floor, it's cold." He said it gently, but as the officers stepped inside, he immediately positioned himself slightly in front of me, a protective stance. But he called me Sarah. Ethan never called me Sarah. He always called me Dove. Said I was his rare, precious Dove he’d searched for. A pair of worn canvas sneakers appeared in my line of sight. Looking up at the police officer, tears streamed down my face. My voice shook. "He… he cooked my mother. And he threw our son off the balcony. Leo’s dead." Forensics techs and officers began searching the apartment, meticulously examining every corner. The large pots from the kitchen were emptied into the sink, their contents carefully sifted through. I stood nearby, watching their every move, desperate for any shred of evidence. After about fifteen minutes, a young officer approached, holding something wrapped in an evidence bag. It looked disturbingly like a skull. I recoiled, stumbling backward. He held it out. "It's a dog's skull, ma'am. Looks like he was cooking dog meat." As he said this, he shot a quick, sharp glance at Ethan. A look full of warning. But Ethan loved dogs. He was always feeding the strays in the neighborhood. He would never eat dog meat. The doubt in my mind solidified into a terrifying certainty. Something was deeply, horribly wrong here.
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