Mom’s Whisper Led My Father and Fiancé to Death novel
A man who had always cherished his life, my dad flinched at her words, then, without hesitation, stepped off the building and plunged to his death.
After his passing, the world was desperate for answers. Dozens asked my mom what she had told him in that final moment. Some even offered a million dollars to buy that one sentence from her lips. But she never spoke a word.
Not until my wedding day.
That was when she arrived, walked up to my fianc, leaned in close, and whispered the same words into his ear.
1
After my dads death, my mom became infamous.
A man who feared death more than anything had leaped to his end without hesitation. There could be only one explanation: whatever my mom had whispered in his ear had driven him to it.
The world wanted answers. Strangers knocked on our door, desperate to know what she had said. Even a wealthy woman, trapped in a miserable marriage, offered a million dollars just to buy that deadly sentence.
But my mom never uttered a word.
Not even under police interrogation.
In the end, she was sentenced to three years in prison for inciting others to commit suicide.
After handling my dads funeral, I went to see her, needing answers, needing to understand.
Mom, what exactly did you say to Dad? Why did he do it?
Separated by a glass window, my moms expression remained impassive.
He didnt want to live anymore. What does that have to do with me?
Her indifference sent a chill through me. My heart ached as I swallowed down the bitterness rising in my throat.
Dad would panic over the smallest cut. He would rush to the hospital over a scratch, terrified it might get infected.
Every year, on his birthday, his wish was always the sameto live a long life, to see me get married, to meet his grandkids.
Tell me, Mom, why would a man like that suddenly take his own life?
Grief clawed at my chest, suffocating me.
My dad had always been kind. His relationship with my mom had been nothing but peaceful.
So why? Why had she whispered something that pushed him over the edge?
What had she said?
My mom met my questioning gaze with a deep, unreadable look before replying coldly, Dont ask. Knowing too much wont do you any good.
With those final words, my mom ended the visitation.
I left the prison, my heart heavy with unanswered questions.
When I returned home, silence greeted me like an unwelcome guest. The house that had once been filled with laughter and warmth now felt hollow, its only remnant of my dad, a black-and-white memorial photo staring back at me.
A sharp pain twisted in my chest, and my confusion only deepened.
Desperate for answers, I stepped into my parents bedroom, hoping to find something, anything, that could explain what had happened.
Inside the wardrobe, their clothes remained neatly folded, untouched by time.
My dad had only ever worn white because my mom once said he looked best in it.
A whole drawer glittered with gold jewelry because my mom loved gold, and he had always indulged her.
His bedside table was stocked with medicine because my mom had poor health, and he never wanted her to suffer.
Everywhere I looked, traces of love surrounded me.
This wasnt a home filled with resentment or misery.
It was a home built on devotion.
So why? Why had my mom been the one to destroy it?
I needed answers, but after that day, my mom refused to see me again. No matter how many times I reached out, she remained cold and unyielding.
Her indifference crushed the last of my hopes.
With nothing left for me in that sorrowful house, I packed my things and left.
I moved in with my longtime boyfriend, Lincoln Adamson.
During my darkest days, he never left my side. He was gentle and patient, offering quiet strength when I felt like falling apart.
In a world that had turned its back on me, he was the only warmth I had left.
Three years passed, and we finally set our wedding date.
On the eve of the ceremony, Lincoln hesitated before speaking, his voice cautious.
Sasha, your mom is out of prison now. This is one of the most important moments of your life, are you really not going to invite her? Do you still hate her?
I stilled for a moment, his question weighing on me. Then, with quiet resolve, I answered, I just dont understand. My dad was a good man, so why did my mom have to hurt him?
Lincoln didnt hesitate.
What if it was just a misunderstanding? he said gently. Can a single sentence really push someone to take their own life?
He squeezed my hand, his warmth steady and reassuring.
Maybe your dads death broke her more than she could admit. Maybe she couldnt bear to talk about it.
His gaze held mine; his voice was soft yet firm.
No matter what, shes still your mom. This is your wedding; its a once-in-a-lifetime moment. You should at least let her know.
If she finds out her only daughter got married without her, imagine how much that would hurt.
Lincoln had always been thoughtful and compassionate, always seeing the pain in others, even when I couldnt.
For years, when I was drowning in grief and confusion, he had been my anchor. My warmth. My light.
Now, his words stirred something deep inside me. A bittersweet ache.
After a long silence, I finally reached for my phone and sent an invitation to my mom.
The next day, the wedding venue brimmed with splendor.
Lincoln had arranged a grand, extravagant ceremony to show how much he cherished me. The hall was alive with laughter and excitement, the air thick with joy.
Among the sea of guests, my mother arrived as expected.
It had been years since I last saw her. She had grown thinner, the sharp angles of her face more pronounced. Wrinkles framed her tired eyes, and streaks of silver wove through her once-dark hair.
She looked older. Worn. Yet her expression was unreadable, her gaze flickering between me and Lincoln with an unreadable depth I couldnt quite grasp.
Then, at the hosts invitation, she stepped onto the stage.
Lincoln, beaming with happiness.
Auntie, thank you for coming to our wedding. He paused, then promised with heartfelt devotion, Please rest assured, I will cherish Sasha, love her for the rest of my life, and never let her suffer even the slightest grievance.
A warm cheer rippled through the crowd. The host smiled and turned to my mother, catching the rising emotions.
As the brides mother, is there anything youd like to say to your daughter?
A hush fell over the room, anticipation thick in the air.
But my mother didnt offer blessings. She didnt even look at me.
Instead, she spoke calmly.
No.
The single word sent a chill down my spine.
I only have one thing to say to my son-in-law.
With that, she stepped forward, leaned close to Lincoln, and whispered something into his ear.
The moment her words left her lips, Lincolns smile vanished.
His face drained of color, his eyes widening with sheer terror as he turned to me, stunned.
Then, without warning, he moved.
He spun on his heel and bolted toward the hotel balcony as though possessed.
Lincoln, stop! I shouted, my voice sharp with panic.
But he didnt hear me. Or maybe he did, but he was beyond reason.
He ran like a man being chased by death itself, desperate, frantic, until he reached the edge of the balcony and jumped.
A sickening thud split the air.
Screams erupted from below, sharp and horrified.
It happened too fast.
By the time I could even process what I had seen, Lincoln was already sprawled on the ground, limp, lifeless, a crimson pool spreading beneath him.
He never made a sound again.
Lincoln was dead.
He died on our wedding day.
He died because of a single sentence from my mother.
The guests rushed downstairs, their faces pale with shock, their voices choked with disbelief.
His mother collapsed beside his lifeless body, clutching him as wretched sobs tore from her throat.
As for me, I felt as if my entire world had shattered. My legs trembled, my chest felt hollow, an unbearable emptiness swallowing me whole.
The man who had just promised to love me for a lifetime had, in the blink of an eye, become a cold, lifeless corpse.
I couldnt accept it.
And then, my mother arrived.
She descended the stairs unhurriedly, smoothing a stray strand of hair as if none of this concerned her. As if the chaos, the grief, and the blood staining this day had nothing to do with her.
Lincolns father, his face contorted with rage, jabbed a trembling finger at her and bellowed, What did you say to my son?
Why did he take his own life the moment he heard your words?
The grief-stricken guests erupted in fury, their voices sharp with accusation.
You wicked woman! Today was supposed to be Lincolns wedding! Why did you come here just to destroy it?
Weve all heard the rumors about how you killed your own husband with just one sentence! We knew you were dangerous, but Lincoln refused to believe it. He defended you at every turn and swore we had it all wrong! He even warned us never to bring up what happened to your husband, saying it wasnt fair to judge you!
And this. This is how you repay him? By driving him to his death? Are you even human?!
You should rot in prison for the rest of your life, never to see the light of day again!
Fury crackled in the air, but my mother remained utterly indifferent.
He chose to take his own life. What does that have to do with me?
Her tone was light and detached, like some people watching, as if she were discussing something that held no weight at all.
That was the final straw.
Lincolns grief-stricken mother, shaking with anguish, suddenly staggered to her feet. With trembling hands, she grabbed my mother by the collar, her sobs raw and broken.
You murderer! Give me back my son!
My son was kind his whole life. He never harmed anyone!
He loved your daughter with everything he had! Gave her his whole heart, his whole world!
Even before the wedding, he reminded us, over and over, to take good care of her. He wanted to spend a lifetime with her, to have children, to grow old together!
He was always so full of life, so hopeful for the future. How could he? How could he possibly have taken his own life?
Tell me! What did you say to him? What did you do? Why did you kill my son?!
The once gentle, loving woman had completely unraveled, her grief turning into madness.
I didnt stop her. I didnt even move.
Instead, I turned to my mother, my voice thick with anguish, my chest tightening with a bitterness I could barely contain.
Why?
Killing my father wasnt enough for you? Why did you have to take Lincoln, too?
Once, my father had been everything to me. We had been a happy family of three until one sentence from her shattered it all. Because of her, he was gone. Because of her, our family had been ripped apart.
And just when I had finally begun to heal, just when I had found warmth again in Lincolns love, just when I was about to start anew, she destroyed it. Again.
She took Lincoln from me.
She crushed everything I had dared to hope for.
Hatred surged through me, sharper than I had ever known. Lincolns death had pushed it to its peak.
For the first time, hesitation flickered in my mothers eyes. She met my gaze, and something in her faltered.
Even you think that of me?
I spoke through gritted teeth, my heart twisting with agony. I just want to know, what did you say to them?
I remembered it vividly, the way my father had looked at me before he fell. The same horror, the same despair that had gripped Lincoln before he leaped to his death.
I needed to know.
What words could drive two kind, optimistic men to such a desperate end?
The crowd erupted with fury, their voices sharp with condemnation as they hurled curses at my mother.
She killed her own husband, and now her son-in-law! A murderer like her doesnt deserve to live!
If she doesnt explain herself today, we wont let her walk out of here alive!
Speak! What did you say to them?
Under the weight of their accusations, my mother didnt flinch. She merely shook off Lincolns mothers grip with an effortless motion as if dusting away something insignificant.
Calmly, she straightened her collar, swept her gaze over the crowd, and spoke, her voice cold as ice.
I dare to say it. Do you dare to listen?
Silence fell like a thunderclap.
The once-chaotic room stilled.
Because those words were deadly.
Whoever had heard them had chosen death without hesitation.
Curiosity warred with terror in their eyes. No one spoke. No one moved.
But I did.
I stepped forward, my voice steady, my resolve unshaken.
I dare.
Because of one sentence, the father who had once cherished me and the man who had once loved me had both taken their own lives.
I needed to know why.
Even if it killed me, my mother held my gaze, something unreadable flickering behind her cold exterior.
Are you sure you wont regret this?
I nodded. Im sure.
For the briefest moment, somethinghesitation, doubtflashed across her face.
Then she leaned in.
And whispered the words into my ear.
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