Chapter 4: July 12th
1072 Words
Three weeks later.
"Rose has been missing for weeks now," Isabella said. "No sign of her anywhere."
"She couldn't just disappear, could she...?" Ralph asked, not looking up.
"I don't know," Isabella replied. She laughed.
"Guess she was too sad to show her face again. Poor thing."
"What a disgrace to the Norell family name," Ralph muttered.
"What more could you expect from a weakling like Rose?" Isabella added. "Such a waste of her parents' investment."
The house felt wrong with only the two of them in it. It was too big, too polished. Every surface reflected light back at them but gave nothing warm.
Outside, the July heat pressed against the glass. Inside, the air conditioning ran cold enough to make Isabella pull her cardigan tighter.
_Ring. Ring._
The sound was sharp in the quiet.
"Ralph, pick up your phone," Isabella said, not bothering to look at him.
He glanced down. The screen lit his face. "It's Jamiel."
"Why is he calling?" Isabella set her wine glass down. Jamiel ran PR. He only called when there was damage control.
"I don't know," Ralph answered.
He picked up. "Hello, Jamiel?"
"Have you seen the news?" Jamiel asked. His voice was too fast.
"What news...?" Ralph said.
"BBC, Ralphel. Your wife is dead," Jamiel said.
The words landed and didn’t move.
Ralph went still. The phone stayed at his ear.
"Isabella, turn on the news. Now."
"What news?" Isabella asked.
"The news channel. Of course," Ralph said.
The television flickered on. The room filled with the BBC intro music, then cut to the anchor desk. Behind her, a photo of Rose. It was the gala photo from last spring. She looked small in the blue dress, smiling like she was trying to remember why she was there.
"This is a breaking report. Mrs. Rose Jones, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Gab Norell, was found dead on the Washington Highway following a fatal accident on July 12th. Mrs. Jones and several other passengers were pronounced dead by doctors this morning."
Ralph hung up.
The phone hit the table. Didn’t fall. Just... placed.
For three seconds, nothing.
Only the BBC voice filling the room.
"...pronounced dead this morning..."
Then Ralph laughed.
Not loud. Not crazy.
The kind of laugh that makes your skin crawl.
Isabella didn’t gasp. She didn’t flinch.
She tilted her head and smirked.
"Finally," she said softly. "No loose ends."
Ralph looked at her. Something ugly flashed behind his eyes and was gone just as fast. Calculation. Relief. Maybe both.
"Call the lawyer," he said. "And the PR team. We start the statement in an hour."
"Grieving husband?" Isabella asked, already reaching for her phone.
"Devastated," Ralph said.
He turned back to the TV. Rose’s photo was still on screen. The anchor was talking about the crash, about the other victims, about the highway closure.
He didn’t look away.
"Make it convincing."
Isabella smiled into her wine glass.
"Poor Rose," she murmured. "Such a tragedy."
Neither of them blinked.
Four hours later the living room had been turned into a set.
Hot lights stood in the corners and threw hard shadows across the rug. A boom mic hovered just out of frame. Three people from PR whispered in the kitchen with Isabella. The lawyer sat in a chair by the door, checking his watch.
Ralph sat alone on the couch. He wore black. He had tissues in his hand that he hadn’t used yet. He’d practiced this in the mirror twice.
The reporter came in with a small crew. She was in her early thirties, the kind of face people trusted on morning TV.
"Mr. Jones, thank you for speaking with us," she said, sitting across from him.
Ralph nodded. His eyes were red.
"Mr. Jones, it's been three weeks since Rose was reported missing. Can you tell us where things stand?"
Ralph let his breath shake. "We’re... we’re still hoping. The police, the search teams. We haven’t stopped looking. My team and I, we followed every lead. Every single one."
He paused. He looked down.
"And this morning you got news?" the reporter prompted gently.
Ralph nodded. "A body was found. They... they confirmed it was her. Rose is gone." His voice cracked on the last word.
The reporter’s expression softened. "I'm so sorry. Had there been any leads? Any sign in the last three weeks?"
"Nothing," Ralph said. "Not one call. Not one sighting. We checked every tip. I kept thinking, if I just waited one more day, I’d hear from her. I thought we had more time."
"How are you holding up?"
That was the cue. Ralph pressed his fingers to his eyes. When he looked up, there was a tear on his cheek.
"I’m not," he said quietly. "But I owe it to Rose to be strong. For her. For the Norell family."
They did three more questions. All softballs. All covered in the briefing doc Isabella had sent over that morning.
When the director called cut, the energy in the room changed instantly. The reporter packed up. The lights went down. The PR team gave Ralph a quick nod before filing out.
"Thank you, Mr. Jones."
The door closed.
Silence again.
Ralph dropped the act the second the cameras were gone. He tossed the unused tissues on the table.
"Clean," he muttered. "No questions about the will. No questions about the separation."
Isabella came in from the kitchen, heels clicking. "You were perfect. The network will run it at the top of the hour. By tonight everyone will be calling you the grieving husband."
Ralph didn’t answer. He was staring at his phone.
It buzzed.
Unknown Number.
He frowned. Picked it up. "Hello?"
Static first. White noise that made his teeth hurt.
Then a voice. Soft. Steady. Familiar in a way that made his stomach drop.
"You didn’t check the body, Ralph."
The call ended.
_Click._
Ralph didn’t move for a full second. The TV was still on mute in the background. Rose’s photo was in a small box in the corner of the screen now, under the words BREAKING.
Then he moved.
"Keys," he said.
Isabella stopped pouring water. "What’s wrong?"
Ralph was already at the door, shrugging on his jacket. His face was blank, but his jaw was locked.
"Get. The. Car. Keys."
"Ralph, what did they say?" Isabella followed him, voice rising.
He didn’t answer. He just reached for the door handle and left.
- Writer
