“If she comes near my sons, I will destroy her.”
He ended the call.
I forced myself to move, to keep walking, to pretend I hadn’t heard.
But my hands were shaking.
And that night, when I tucked Luke into bed, he looked up at me and whispered, “Nia? Do people come back from heaven?”
My heart stopped.
“Why do you ask?”
His eyes were too serious for a six-year-old.
“Because I saw Mommy.”
The world tilted.
“What?”
“Outside. By the gate. She was standing there looking at the house.”
I forced myself to breathe.
“When, sweetheart?”
“Today. After school.”
I smoothed his hair back, kept my voice calm.
“Did you tell your dad?”
He shook his head.
“He gets sad when we talk about Mommy.”
I kissed his forehead and promised him everything was fine.
Then I walked downstairs and knocked on Adrian’s office door.
He looked up from his desk, exhausted.
“Luke saw someone outside,” I said carefully. “By the gate. He thinks it was his mother.”
Adrian’s face went white.
Then red.
Then cold.
“When?”
“This afternoon.”
He stood so fast his chair rolled backward.
“Get the boys inside. Lock the doors. Don’t let anyone in or out.”
“Adrian, what—”
“Do it. Now.”
The fear in his eyes was real.
I ran.
I gathered the boys into the living room, made up a story about a game, kept them close.
Adrian disappeared into his office and didn’t come out for an hour.
When he finally emerged, his jaw was set, his expression unreadable.
“We need to talk,” he said quietly.
I sent the boys upstairs and followed him into the office.
He closed the door and turned to face me.
“Her name is Vanessa,” he said. “And she’s not dead.”
I stared at him.
“But you told them—”
“I told them what I had to tell them to keep them safe.”
“From what?”
His hands curled into fists.
“From her.”
The story came out in pieces.
Vanessa had been unstable for years—mood swings, paranoia, dangerous outbursts.
After Luke was born, it got worse.
