2
I struggled, gasping, trying to plead with him, “H–honey… I’m pregnant with your child… do you… do you really want to end two lives?”
At those words, he slowly released me, though his hands dug into my shoulders as he leaned in, his bloodshot eyes filled with fury. “Jessica, was it you? Did you hire someone to kill Melanie?”
His fury terrified me, and I stammered, “Honey, you… you’ve got it all wrong. I wouldn’t have the nerve.”
“Really? You’d better hope it wasn’t you, or I’ll personally see to it that you pay.”
With that, he glared at me with a chilling hatred, climbed out of bed, and stormed out of the room.
He didn’t come back to our bedroom that night, leaving me lying awake, haunted by the look in his eyes. It wasn’t until dawn that I drifted into a fitful sleep.
I woke to the doorbell ringing.
After a moment, realizing no one was answering, I groggily went downstairs to open it. But as I came down the stairs, I froze.
There, slumped on the couch, was my husband, completely still. A pool of blood lay beneath him, and on the coffee table, a bloodied surgical scalpel. I let out a scream.
I couldn’t look a second time–the sight was too horrifying. My body felt weak and I collapsed to the floor, trembling.
The doorbell rang on, even more urgently after hearing my scream. I wanted to get up and answer it, but I couldn’t move, paralyzed by shock. All I could do was sit there, sobbing uncontrollably.
I didn’t know how much time had passed before the door was forced open. Detective Shaw and Detective Callahan entered, followed by two officers in uniform.
When they saw my husband, they were visibly startled. Detective Callahan called for the coroner immediately, while Detective Shaw gently lifted me off the floor as I continued crying.
The coroner arrived quickly, concluding that my husband’s death was a suicide, occurring around two in the morning. His expression seemed tortured, as if he’d experienced something terrifying in his final moments.
Detective Callahan told me that my husband was the one who’d killed Melanie Reed. I didn’t believe it, but he said the evidence was solid. He explained that the police had reviewed footage from both Maplewood Apartments and Melanie’s complex.
While my husband had avoided our building’s security cameras, he’d been unfamiliar with her building, and at 10 p.m. on the night of her murder, he’d been caught on one of their cameras.
I was in disbelief, but Detective Callahan went on to explain that they’d found messages between my husband and Melanie on his phone, where they’d arranged to meet up that night. They concluded that my husband had likely killed her and taken his own life out of guilt.
I felt numb, slumping to the ground, my body shaking uncontrollably.
The police took my husband’s body away for further examination, and my home was marked off as a crime scene. The blood on the floor
made me feel sick to my core.
After taking my statement, Detective Shaw placed a comforting hand on my shoulder and asked quietly, “Jessica, I see you have bruises on your neck. Did Steven… hurt you?”
Her question brought last night’s events rushing back. Wiping away tears, I admitted, “Last night, I confronted him about the affair, and he…
lost control.”
Detective Shaw looked thoughtful, hesitating before saying, “The neck is a vulnerable area. It seems like he was trying to hurt you badly. Why
didn’t you report it?”
