Chapter 3

Reina's pov

"Your husband must have been lying to you the whole time. I'm sorry."

The detective didn't look as though he was joking. I grabbed the documents from him and skimmed through the pages. I don't believe it. There must have been some mistake. I know Garrett; he wouldn't lie about anything, not his name. I'm sure he is being framed. This is all part of the criminal's plan; I'm sure of it.

"You can't just conclude on that with just what's in this piece of paper. There isn't enough evidence. You are supposed to be looking for my husband and not deeming him a criminal. Mum!" I screamed, completely helpless.

"Mrs. McCoy, these papers are evidence. I will investigate further, but we need to verify your husband's details." He insisted.

"Mum! Can you listen to him? What is he saying?" I could no longer hold the rage in, and I felt suffocated, and the feeling of being sidelined by the one that was supposed to be helping made my world suddenly come crumbling down at my feet.

"He must be mistakenly sweetie. Garret can never do such a thing." My mother grabbed the documents from me and threw them at the detective.

"If you can't do your job properly, don't come to rub your failures at our faces. Do we look like we are ready for another circus? My grandson is dead!"

Mother's voice caused a stir in the ward. Everyone's gaze suddenly fixed on our direction, and in no minute, I could hear their gossip-

"What is happening over there? Did the detective just say her husband is an impersonator?"

"The doctor said her husband is dead."

"Oh, that's not true. I know her very well. We live on the same street. Her husband must be a criminal, and I heard the son was murdered."

"Oh my, what a shame. No wonder she seems to be going insane. My world, what a pity."

The mocking eyes, the pitiful gazes, and the spiteful demeanor made my skin crawl, a feeling I hadn't felt for the past seven years.

As my gaze meandered between their faces, unpleasant past incidents flashed before my eyes. A memory I've struggled to forget was knocking at the door of my heart and crushing every bone in my body. The squealing of the nurses and the nitpicks of the patients-I could hear it all. And then there was him-a man whose devilish countenance was buried in my memory.

"Reina!"

My mother snapped her fingers before my eyes, but it didn't help. I was drawn to the abyss of my long-buried agony.

Just like it were seven years ago-getting embarrassed in the emergency ward by nurses and patients-I could recall it all. I can still remember the color of their dresses and the smell of their perfume: their mocking laughter, and the horrible seven years of my life. A past I'd rather die than revisit.

"Reina!" My mother shrieked at me, erupting me from my reverie to a reality that was worse than my fears.

"We need to investigate more about your husband's background." The detective was deeply convinced that Garret was indeed a criminal.

"What do you want? Should I show you the marriage certificate? Wedding pictures and events we attended as couples?" I yelled. Every tear falling from my eyes splashed on the frigid floor like raindrops.

Garret wasn't just my husband; he was my twin flame. A kiss from him brightens my day. He was supportive like no one I've ever met.

"If you could, since we can't find your husband on our database, maybe a picture would help. If you say he is Garret McCoy, then we can verify that information from our database using his picture." The detective's persistence sent turmoils through my spine like wildfire.

"You want a picture? Fine! I will give you pictures." I yelled and veered towards my mother, scanning everywhere for my phone.

"I didn't bring it here. We will have to go home."

My mother clutched her purse and tugged my arm as we swerved out of the hospital.

.....

As the car drove past the highway of Quebec, the famous Rue du Petit-Champlain street that led directly to our mansion.

Château Frontenac, Rue du Petit‑Champlain is a narrow cobblestone street in Quebec, with colorful signs and quaint shops- it was my husband's favorite spot. Most times, after picking me up from work late at night, we let the driver take the car home while we walk down the streets. We ate street food and danced to the music played by the bar just by the corner. We were nicknamed Alstro. A shortened form of the flower Alstroemeria. It symbolizes the strong bond between two people that transcends romantic love.

Though we had enough money to live lavishly, Garret was a man who found simplicity in little things. It was one of the many things I loved about him.

...

"We are here." The detective announced, staring at me through the car's front mirror. I frowned, gritting my teeth as I stepped out of the car.

'He wants a picture. I will give him pictures.'

I walked inside the mansion with my mother and the detective behind me.

Standing beside the couches, my gaze trailed the living room searching for the frames hung on the wall, but there were none.

They were all broken.

I sighed and walked up the stairs straight to the bedroom to grab the frame beside the bed.

I found it beside the lamb stand. I rushed to pick it up and slammed it on the detective's chest.

"That's the picture of my husband." A tear rolled down my cheeks as I watched the detective staring vaguely at the frame.

"I think you need to see this." He mumbled with eyes filled with confusion as he slowly spun the frame towards my direction.

My gaze instantly drifted to the frame-

"What is this?" I shrieked in confusion staring at the frame of my husband and me, but his face was cut out from the picture.

"I should be the one asking. Why is your husband's face cut out from the picture?"

"How would I know? I yelled, raveling my hair as I kept pacing around. Then it occured to me-

'My wedding album.'

I rushed to the closet only to find the wedding album on the floor, and when I picked it up, it seemed to be the same as the frame.

I skimmed through the pages, and yet, it was the same. On every page, Garrett's face was cut out from the pictures.

"Mum!" I screamed as I sprawled to the ground; the tears gathered in my eyes suddenly dried off.

I could hear the footsteps of my mum and the detective as they hurried to the closet. The detective picked up the photo album skimming through the pages. Then he set his gaze on me-

"Your husband just became a suspect in your son's murder case. Now with all the pictures gone, how do we identify him?"