Swamp Murder

Swamp Murder. 55

Wang's Pov.

When we landed in Washington, the first thing I did was disconnect my line.

It was easier that way. Safer—for Zhan.
If he couldn't reach me, he couldn't be dragged back into this mess. And I... I could pretend I was doing the right thing. Distance was protection, even if it felt like punishment.

I buried myself in work, staying late, saying little. I kept my head down and my heart locked.

Then Lusi got sick.

At first, I didn't care. I thought it was stress, maybe her theatrics again. But when my mother confirmed she was pregnant... Everything went still.

The night she drugged me came rushing back—slurred memories, hazy movements, the overwhelming feeling of something stolen.

Now that one night had become something my mother celebrated. A life she adored. A legacy she praised.

And that...
That was all she'd get from me.

Not my heart. Not my loyalty.
Just silence. Compliance.
And a name I no longer recognized when I looked in the mirror.

Some nights, I'd sit on the edge of the bed, lights off, fingers curled around the necklace I never took off.

Zhan bought it for me when things were still... soft. Still ours. I wore it under my clothes, close to my heart, like a secret no one could touch.

The sketchbooks were buried in my suitcase, but I found myself pulling them out when the world felt too loud.
Every page was me, the way he looked at the world like it still had beauty left in it.

I didn't open them often. Because when I did, I remembered too much.

I was barely in the door before my mother called me into the living room. Lusi was already there, seated like a queen, one hand on her small but noticeable bump.

"We need to talk," my mother said. Her tone was clipped, her eyes sharper than usual.

"I'm tired," I muttered, brushing past.

"You've been tired for months," Lusi snapped. "You barely look at me. You barely speak. Do you hate us that much?"

I turned, slowly. "I never said I hated anyone."

"You don't have to," she bit back. "You're punishing me. For what? For a night you can't even remember clearly?"

"You drugged me," I said quietly, coldly. "That's what I remember."

My mother stood. "And from that night came a child. My grandchild. That should matter to you."

I laughed—bitter, low, joyless. "It matters. But it doesn't erase what you both did."

"You're being dramatic," Lusi scoffed.

"No," I said, stepping closer, my voice barely above a whisper, "I'm being silent. And silence is the only kindness I have left."

The room went quiet for a beat, thick with words that no one dared say.

Then Lusi shifted, straightening her back like she was preparing for a performance. "I have an antenatal appointment next week," she said, watching me carefully. "I want you to come with me."

I blinked at her, tired already.

"My mom can do that," I replied flatly. "Happily, I'm sure."

Her mouth parted, stunned, then curled into something sharp. "Wang—"

But I was already walking away.