The baby's cries had not yet subsided when the hands of the clock on the bedroom wall pointed to nine p.m.
Amara Gabrielle sat leaning against the headboard, one hand supporting her abdomen which still throbbed with pain, while the other gently stroked the back of the baby boy in her arms. Vero whimpered incessantly, his face flushed, his breathing uneven as if exhausted from crying for too long.
"Easy, sweetheart. Mommy's here," Amara whispered repeatedly, her voice fragile.
Her body was far from recovered. The stitches still burned, her head felt heavy, and her eyes were sticky from lack of sleep. But in moments like this, she didn't dare complain. Vero was the child she had long awaited, and sleepless nights felt only natural.
The phone on the bedside table vibrated.
Amara glanced at the screen. The name that appeared made her reluctant to answer: Uncle Tony.
She held her breath for a moment before sliding the screen.
"Hello?"
"Oh, so you finally picked up. You think after having a child, you can run away from me, Amara?" the voice on the other end pierced her ears.
Amara swallowed. "I'm not running. I just gave birth. What is it, Uncle?"
"And I've already said it. This business doesn't belong to you alone."
Amara's hand tightened around the blanket. Two days before giving birth, she had refused her uncle's request to redistribute ownership of the business she had built herself. The decision was legally valid, but it clearly wounded the man's ego.
"I didn't do anything wrong," Amara replied, her voice restrained. "And this isn't the right time to talk about business."
A short laugh came from the other end. "Time? For me, it's the perfect time. You think I'd stay quiet after being crossed out just like that?"
Vero cried even louder. Amara rocked her body gently.
"I'm exhausted, Uncle. We can talk about this tomorrow."
"Tomorrow? No. I want your answer tonight. Don't use that baby to dodge this."
Amara's chest felt tight. "Don't talk like that. My child isn't a tool. You know how exhausting childbirth is. Your wife went through it too, didn't she?"
"Then be prepared," her uncle said heavily before ending the call. "I won't leave until this problem is settled."
Amara stared at the dark screen, her heart pounding erratically. She tried to calm herself, but unease crept into her chest.
"Sssh... calm down, sweetheart," she whispered to Vero.
Vero's cries eventually faded into a small whimper.
"All right, you're finally asleep. Wait a moment, okay? Mommy just needs to get a drink," she said as she left the room, closing the door softly. Her nanny would only arrive tomorrow after a rigorous selection process.
She headed to the kitchen and filled a glass with water. Suddenly, a hoarse and weak voice sounded, very close.
"Help—"
Amara hesitated, but she kept walking.
When she reached the living room, she froze.
Her uncle lay sprawled on the floor, his body tilted awkwardly. Blood flowed from his temple, staining the glossy marble floor. His breathing was labored, his eyes half-open.
"Uncle?" Amara's voice was barely audible.
The man moved weakly, his hand gripping Amara's ankle with the last of his strength.
"You..." his lips trembled. "Bastard."
His grip loosened.
His body fell still.
"Aaaah!" Amara screamed.
She stumbled back, her legs trembling as she realized blood was smeared on her skin. Vero screamed hysterically upstairs.
"What's happening?" she whispered in panic.
At that moment, the front door opened.
"What's going on?" Richard's voice sounded startled. "Amara, what happened?"
Amara turned to him, her face pale, her eyes filled with fear.
"Richard... I... I don't know," her voice broke. "I didn't do anything."
Richard looked at her uncle's body. "He's dead."
Amara covered her mouth with her hand. No. That's impossible. I didn't do anything. Why... Uncle?
An hour later, the police arrived with an ambulance. Floodlights illuminated her uncle's body, and the smell of blood filled the air.
"Everyone stay where you are!" one officer ordered.
Amara trembled. Her body was still weak, but panic forced her to stand without having a chance to calm her child.
"This is my house," her voice was barely there. "It... it just happened. I didn't touch him, I—"
The officer stared at her sharply. "Calm down, ma'am. We just need to ask what happened. No need to panic."
Amara grew more confused. "I was sleeping, then I heard a loud noise. I went downstairs and found him... he had already fallen... and he grabbed my leg..."
Another officer wrote quickly in the log. "Were you alone in the house when this happened?"
"No... my husband was here, but he had just gotten home, and there are three housemaids in this house. I don't know what happened, suddenly he was already lying there," Amara answered haltingly.
The officer looked at her with an unreadable expression. "Is there any witness or evidence that can prove you didn't do anything, Mrs. Gabrielle?"
Amara bit her lip, tears falling. There was no evidence. Only fear and panic. "No... I... I didn't do anything. Please believe me. I swear, I wouldn't even dare touch him!"
The officer gently patted her shoulder. "Your child is safe, ma'am. We just need your statement at the station. Everything will be clear later."
Amara looked at her uncle's body again. Her heart shattered. The body that once terrified her was now lifeless, and she had to answer questions that felt impossible to answer.
At that moment, she realized something terrifying. Tonight wasn't just about her uncle's death. Tonight was the beginning of a nightmare that could drown her life for years to come.
———
The neon lights in the interrogation room shone down on Amara as she sat in the chair, her hands trembling, her face pale. In front of her, two police officers recorded every word that came out of her mouth.
"Mrs. Amara, tell us from the beginning what happened that night," one of the officers instructed.
Amara took a deep breath. "I was... I was in the bedroom calming Vero down, then I went to the kitchen to get some water, and suddenly there was a hoarse voice asking for help. When I searched for the source of the sound, I found my uncle. There is a bloodstain on my leg because he briefly regained consciousness and asked for help."
The other officer leaned forward, staring at Amara. "Was there anyone else in the house at the time?"
"The housemaids were there, perhaps you can question them. My husband had just come home..." Amara tried to explain.
One of the officers pressed the intercom button, calling in two housemaids. They entered, their faces anxious.
"Explain what you saw that night," the officer ordered.
One of the maids, a young woman, spoke haltingly. "I... I didn't see anything, ma'am... I was sleeping in my room."
The other maid nodded. "I don't know either... I didn't leave my room after my work was finished."
Amara swallowed. "Please, you know I didn't do anything, right? You know what I'm like."
The officer stared sharply at her, then called in the last witness, an elderly housemaid who had been on duty that night.
"I... I saw Mrs. Amara leave her room and head toward the living room; at that time, I had just finished my prayers," the woman said slowly. "I don't know what happened after that, but I saw her heading toward the room."
Amara lowered her head, her chest tightening. "I just wanted to get some water! I didn't touch him. Just think about it, how could I possibly take his life?"
The officer wrote a quick note, his face serious. "Is there any other evidence? CCTV? Additional witnesses?"
Amara bit her lip, her eyes welling with tears. "No... this house is new. We—Mrs. Amara and Mr. Richard—only moved in two months ago. There are no cameras yet, no other witnesses."
One of the officers stared at Amara for a long moment. "Without evidence, and with a witness placing you near the scene, this case will be difficult to explain, Mrs. Amara. We will investigate this."
Amara lowered her head, tears dripping down. Her heart was shattered, her body weak. Everything she hoped for—justice, truth—felt impossibly far away. That night, her life began to change forever.