Hey, baby, I’m home,” I murmured as I closed the door behind me, the weight of the day settling on my shoulders like a heavy blanket. The room greeted me with a deafening silence, echoing the emptiness I felt inside. “Ezekiel?” I called out, my voice barely above a whisper, but there was no response, just the echo of my own words bouncing off the walls.

With a sigh, I dropped my bag onto the worn wooden stool by the entrance, the thud breaking the silence that enveloped the room. The exhaustion of the day washed over me, pulling at my limbs like invisible chains. Leaning against the cool wall for support, I slowly slipped off my shoes, the familiar routine a comforting distraction from the turmoil brewing inside me.

“I’m famished,” I muttered to myself, the rumble of my stomach echoing in the empty room as I made my way to the closet. The weight of the day hung heavy on my shoulders as I shed my scrubs, each piece of fabric carrying the weight of the lives I had touched and the pain I had witnessed. Dropping them into the laundry basket with a sense of finality, I reached out for the pink robe hanging on the wall, the soft fabric a familiar comfort against my skin.

It barely covered anything, a mere whisper of fabric that left little to the imagination, but it was Ezekiel’s favorite. A blush crept across my cheeks as I imagined his warm smile, his gentle touch, his whispered promises of love. “Can’t wait for him to get home and take it off me,” I whispered to the empty room, a faint smile tugging at the corners of my lips despite the heaviness in my heart.

The Neighbor

The tranquility of the night shattered like glass as the piercing screams sliced through the silence, tearing me from the clutches of sleep. “Call the police, call the police!” the frantic voice outside my door pleaded, each word a desperate cry for help that echoed in the darkness.

Heart pounding in my chest, I struggled to shake off the fog of sleep as I stumbled toward the door, my mind swimming with confusion and fear. “Who’s there?” I called out, my voice thick with sleep, the urgency in the air sending shivers down my spine.

“Call the police, please! My life is over, call the police!” the voice continued, the desperation in her tone sending a chill down my spine.

As I reached the door, I hesitated for a moment, the weight of the situation crashing down on me like a tidal wave. There she stood, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, her pink robe barely clinging to her trembling form. Despite her disheveled appearance, it was her tear-streaked face that caught my attention, her eyes wide with terror and grief.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, my heart aching at the sight of her pain.

“He is dead, my husband is dead,” she sobbed, her words a gut-wrenching confession that hung heavy in the air.

The news hit me like a punch to the gut, sending shockwaves through my body as I struggled to comprehend the gravity of her words. Without hesitation, I retreated into the safety of my home, my mind racing as I reached for the phone, fingers trembling as I dialed 911, each digit a lifeline in the darkness.

“What is the address, ma’am?” the dispatcher asked, their voice a beacon of hope in the chaos.

“12 Woodwork, off Matt Avenue,” I replied, my voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside me.

The Police Arrival

The minutes felt like hours as we waited for the police to arrive. Emma, my neighbor, was still sobbing uncontrollably, clutching the pink robe tightly around her. I offered her a glass of water, but she barely noticed. My mind raced, trying to process what she had said. Ezekiel, her husband, was dead. How could this be? They always seemed so happy together.

The wail of sirens broke the tense silence. Red and blue lights flashed through the windows, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Moments later, there was a loud knock on the door. I opened it to find two officers standing there, their faces set in grim determination.

“Ma’am, where is the scene?” one of the officers asked.

Emma pointed shakily towards her house. “In the bathroom… he’s in the bathroom,” she managed to whisper.

The officers moved quickly, heading towards Emma’s house. I stayed with her, trying to offer some comfort as the sounds of police radios crackled to life next door. More officers arrived, and soon the house was swarming with law enforcement and paramedics.

After what felt like an eternity, Detective James Clark emerged from the house. His expression was serious as he approached us.

“Mrs. Harper, I’m Detective Clark. I need to ask you a few questions about what happened tonight,” he said gently, but firmly.

Emma nodded, tears still streaming down her face. “I came home and found him… like that,” she said, her voice breaking.

“Did you notice anything unusual when you arrived? Was the door locked? Any signs of forced entry?” Detective Clark asked, taking notes.

“No, nothing. The door was locked. Everything seemed normal until… until I saw him,” Emma replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Emma, calm down, please. I am sure they will get to the bottom of this,” I said, consoling her.

“Alright. We’re going to need to take you down to the station to get a full statement. Is there anyone you can call to be with you right now?” Detective Clark asked.

“Yes, my sister Cynthia lives nearby. She is my lawyer.”

“Go ahead and call her.”

“I don’t have my phone.”

“You can use mine,” I offered. Cynthia wasn’t picking up; she was probably fast asleep.

“I’ll go with her,” I said.

Detective Walter nodded. “Thank you. That would be helpful.”

At the Police Station

At the station, Detective Clark led us to a small, sterile room. He offered Emma a seat and a cup of coffee, which she declined. I sat beside her, holding her hand for support.

“Mrs. Harper, I know this is difficult, but we need to understand everything we can about your husband and your relationship. Can you tell me about your evening before you came home?” Detective Clark asked.

Emma took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “I had a late shift at the hospital. I’m a nurse. I came home around 10 p.m. and found… found him like that.”

“”Did your husband have any enemies? Anyone who might want to hurt him?” Detective Clark pressed.

“No, everyone loved Ezekiel. He was the kindest person,” Emma said, her voice cracking with emotion.

Detective Clark nodded, jotting down her responses. “We’ll be conducting a thorough investigation, Mrs. Harper. For now, try to get some rest. We’ll need you to come back tomorrow for a more detailed interview.”

As we left the station, Emma was a shadow of her former self. The vibrant, loving woman I knew was now engulfed in grief and shock.

Unraveling the Truth 

Over the next few days, the police combed through every aspect of Ezekiel’s life. They interviewed friends, colleagues, and neighbors. It wasn’t long before inconsistencies began to surface. Financial records showed large, unexplained withdrawals. Phone records revealed frequent calls to a number Emma didn’t recognize.

Detective Clark came to visit us one evening, his face more serious than ever. “Mrs. Harper, you are under arrest for the murder of your husband, Mr. Ezekiel Harper,” he said……….to be continued.