The man had been gone for a year. Today, his delayed letter arrived with a single sentence: “Dont trust my mother. Dig beneath the old apple tree.”
The ping from her laptop made Veronica flinch.
Exactly a year. Minute for minute. Twelve months since that phone call had split her life in two.
On the screen glowed a single line: “Scheduled delivery. From: Christopher Whitmore.”
Her fingers went numb. She stared at her husbands name, which had no right to appear there. It felt like a cruel, vicious joke.
With trembling hands, she opened the message. There was hardly any text. Just one sentence, seared into her mind like a branding iron:
“Nicki, if youre reading thisthen its all real. Dont trust a single word my mother says. Look beneath the old apple tree in the garden. She knows everything.”
A sharp knock at the door rang out like a gunshot. There she stood. Her mother-in-law, Isolde Whitmore. A mask of sorrow frozen on her face, a container of food in her hands.
“Veronica, darling,” her voice dripped with false sympathy. “I thought youd be alone today. Came to check on you.”
She walked straight into the kitchen without waiting for an invitation, setting the container on the table. Veronica closed the door silently behind her, the laptop with Christophers letter burning against her back.
“Heres what Ive decided,” Isolde began briskly, scanning the kitchen. “We need to sell the cottage.”
Veronica froze. The cottage. Their place. Where that very old apple tree stood.
“Sell it?” she echoed, her own voice sounding foreign. “Why?”
“What use is it to you now?” Isolde threw her hands up dramatically. “Its just a burden for you, and I could use the extra pension. Besides, its too painful for me to go thereeverything reminds me of Christopher.”
Her words were logical, reasonable. But Veronica looked at her and saw not a grieving mother, but a predator waiting to strike. The words from the letter echoed in her mind.
“Ive already found a buyer,” Isolde added casually. “Reliable chap. Offering a fair price, but he wont wait forever. Cash in hand.”
“I I need time to think,” Veronica forced out.
Isoldes face twisted. The mask of sorrow slipped, revealing cold steel beneath.
“Whats there to think about? Do you want our familys nest to rot? To let strangers pick it apart?”
She stepped closer, her gaze boring into Veronica.
“Ive already prepared the paperwork. Ten oclock tomorrow at the solicitors. All you have to do is sign. Dont make an old woman beg.”
Veronica retreated a step. This wasnt a request anymore. It was an ultimatum. And suddenly, with crystalline clarity, she understoodher husband had sent that message from beyond to warn her.
He knew. He knew something about his mother. About that cottage.
“Fine,” she said quietly, feeling ice spread inside her. “Ill be there.”
Isolde smiled victoriously and slipped the mask of sympathy back on.
“Good girl. Thats sensible. Life must go on.”
When the door closed behind her, Veronica walked to the table. Her hand reached for the keyring, where a lone key dangleda small silver apple charm attached.
The cottage key. The key to the secret Christopher had left her.
That night, Veronica barely slept. His words and Isoldes ultimatum tangled into a sticky, anxious knot. By morning, she had no intention of meeting any solicitor.
At six a.m., while the city still slept, her car raced down the empty motorway. A cold dawn mist clung to the trees.
Her phone rang at exactly nine. Veronica tensed but ignored it. Isolde. A minute later, a text: “Where are you? Were all waiting.”
She didnt reply.
The old cottage greeted her with boarded-up windows. The air smelled of damp leaves. Every corner whispered of Christopherthe bench hed built, the path to the river where theyd walked.
In the shed, she found an old but sturdy shovel.
The ancient apple tree stood in the farthest corner of the garden, its gnarled branches clawing at the grey sky. Veronica drove the shovel into the earth.
Digging was hard. Roots clung stubbornly, stones dulled the blade. Her phone buzzed again. This time, she answered.
“Veronica, what is this game?” Isoldes voice was glacial, not a trace of yesterdays sympathy. “The solicitor wont wait all day.”
“Im not coming.”
“What do you mean, youre not coming? Ive spent six months arranging this!”
Veronica stayed silent, driving the shovel deeper.
“Youll regret this, girl. Deeply. I always get what I want.”
The line went dead.
She tossed the phone aside. The threat only fueled her. She dug madly, ignoring the dirt, the ache in her back.
Thenclang.
The shovel struck something hard, metallic.
She dropped to her knees, clawing at the soil. A small metal box, wrapped in layers of plastic. No lock, just a simple latch.
Her heart hammered in her throat. With shaking fingers, she pried it open.
Inside lay a folder of documents and several sealed envelopes. The top one, the thickest, bore Christophers handwriting: “For Nicki.”
She tore it open. The contents werent just words. They were their entire life with Isolde, seen through her sons eyesyears of manipulation, financial control, psychological torment.
“…she made me take out loans in my name, said it was for her treatment. Only recently I learned the money went to a flat she rents out…”
“…she forged my signature on a power of attorney. Im scared, Nicki. I dont know what else shes capable of. If anything happens to me, dont trust her. All the proof is here…”
Veronica pulled out more papers. Loan agreements with forged signatures. Bank statements showing large transfers. A copy of another willunknown to herleaving everything, including the cottage, to her alone.
It all made sense now. The rush to sell. The ultimatum. Isolde had been trying to destroy the only place holding evidence against her.
A rustle behind her.
At the garden gate stood Isolde. No mask of sorrow. No anger. Just the cold, calculating stare of a predator cornering its prey.
“I knew youd come here,” she said calmly. “Give me the box, Veronica. We can part ways amicably.”
Slowly, Veronica stood, clutching the metal case. Mud on her knees, hair wildbut her gaze steady.
“Amicably isnt an option anymore, Isolde.”
Shed never called her that before. Not “Mum,” as Christopher had always asked. The name itself was a slap.
Isoldes lips twisted.
“Did those papers make you brave? Christopher thought he could defy me too. Naive boy. Always too soft, too… righteous.”
She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“He tried to rebel. Found out about the power of attorney, threatened me. I had to… help him. Stop him from making mistakes.”
The word “help” hung in the cold air.
And in that moment, something in Veronica snapped. Grief, fear, confusionall burned away, leaving only razor-sharp clarity. Years of swallowed insults, of bending to this woman, condensed into a single point.
Enough.
“I knew youd come too,” Veronica said coolly, pulling out her phone. Her hands didnt shake anymore. “While you were walking from the gate, I took photos.”
She turned the screen. Clear shots of the second will, the forged loan agreement.
“Just emailed these to our solicitor. Gave him a quick summary of your little sale. He said fraud on this scale is his specialty.”
Isoldes face shifted. Confidence flickered.
“What nonsense is this? What solicitor?”
“The one who handled Christophers affairs. He was surprised to hear youd spent six months arranging a deal behind my backusing a void power of attorney.”
Veronica stepped forward, closing the distance. Now she was the one advancing.
“Oh, and one more thing. I started recording when you entered the garden. Your little confession about helping Christopher came through beautifully.”
She pressed play. A distorted but unmistakable voice hissed: “…had to… help him…”
Isolde froze. The mask crumbled completely, revealing raw fury and fear. She stared at Veronica as if seeing her for the first timenot the meek daughter-in-law, but a dangerous opponent.
“You” she spat, but words failed her.
“Game over,” Veronica cut in. “Two choices. Walk away now, disappear from my life forever. Or I press send, and these recordings go straight to the police. Your call.”
For a second, Isolde tried to reclaim her old power. Straightened up, eyes flashing.
“You
