Wanted By My Husband's Murderer

My head throbbed like something was trying to break its way out. Pain pulsed behind my eyes, sharp enough to turn my stomach the second I shifted. I groaned and squeezed my eyes shut against the thin light leaking through the curtains. This was how it always ended with Corbin. He would yell until his voice filled the house, throwing accusations and reminding me, as though I could ever forget, that my mother had all but sold me to him. And I would drink. Enough for the room to tilt, for his voice to blur into something distant, and enough to finally sleep. But this morning was wrong. The air in the room carried a strange metallic stench that made my stomach churn. I blinked hard, trying to force the fog out of my head. When I lifted my hand to rub at my bleary eyes, something sticky pulled against my skin. Slowly, my gaze dropped to my fingers. Dark red coated them–thick, already drying at the edges. My heart thumped loudly. I looked down at my nightgown. It was soaked through, heavy and stiff against my skin. “Blood…? No, it can’t be.” “Corbin?” My voice came out thin, barely there. Silence answered. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, my bare feet hitting the cold floor. And then I saw him. Corbin lay crumpled beside the nightstand. His eyes were wide open, fixed on nothing. A dark pool spread across his chest, soaking into the rug beneath him, and staining the cream fabric a sickening red. He wasn't moving. Not even a breath. A burst of laughter tore out of me. It sounded like it belonged to someone else. My hand flew to my mouth, my stomach twisting. What the hell was that…? The sound died as quickly as it came, leaving something colder behind. "No, no, no," I stumbled towards him, dropping hard onto my knees. My hands hovered for a second before I forced them onto his shoulder. "Corbin, wake up. Please, wake up!" His skin was freezing cold. I jerked back, a sharp cry tearing from my throat as more blood smeared my palm. The metallic smell thickened in the air, making each breath I took shallow and uneven. My mind clawed for something, trying to pull up any memory from the night before, but there was nothing after the shouting and the third glass of whiskey. Panic didn’t hit all at once–it seeped in, slow and suffocating. I crawled towards the phone on the side table, nearly knocking it off as I grabbed it. My fingers shook so badly I kept missing the numbers. I needed to call a doctor, an ambulance, someone who could make sense of this. Before I could type in the last digit, a loud, wailing sound came from outside. Sirens. They sounded close, and the sound drew nearer by the seconds. I rose to my feet, staggering backwards until my hip struck my dresser, eyes wide. How were they already here? Who called them? I looked down at my hands, at the scene around me. If the police walked in right now, they would see a wife covered in her husband’s blood, standing over his corpse. They wouldn’t need to ask questions. And Corbin’s family–they had always called me a gold-digger, a parasite feeding off their wealth. They would make sure I rotted in prison. The realization didn’t come slowly, it crashed down all at once. They wouldn’t listen. They’d see the blood, the body, and that would be enough. I knew then that I couldn't stay. I just couldn't. I ran into the bathroom and turned on the faucet. Water rushed over my hands, running pink as I scrubbed frantically, like I could erase what had already happened. Quickly, I washed my face, stripping off my ruined nightgown for the first pair of jeans and shirt I could find in the closet. Afterwards, I grabbed my purse, shoving my wallet and phone inside, my teeth chattering. Downstairs, tires screeched in the driveway and car doors slammed heavily. They were here. The blood left my cheeks and pooled in my stomach, heavy and churning. My heart hammered, fast and useless. “Oh God, no,” I sobbed quietly, forcing myself to move towards the back staircase, each step careful despite the pounding in my chest. Through the open hallway window, a deep, commanding voice carried inside. "Secure the perimeter. The victim's name is Corbin Carter. Suspect is his wife, Evelyn Carter. Put out a search warrant immediately." They already knew my name. I froze. Something heavy dropped into my chest and stayed there. They hadn’t even stepped into the house, and I was already named. I didn’t let myself think about what would happen once they came in and found me. Without giving thought to my actions, I slipped out through the back door, pressing myself into the shadows of the hedges. Then I ran. ******* Hours later, the sun blazed overhead and my legs screamed with exhaustion. I’d walked miles, avoiding main roads until I reached a small town nestled near the base of the mountains. A small cafe on a quiet corner promised anonymity. I slipped inside, heading straight to a booth in the corner, where the light couldn’t reach my face, and ordered black coffee. A waitress dropped off the mug, giving me a brief, tired smile before walking away. I wrapped my hands around the warm mug, staring down at the dark liquid, my thoughts spiraling. The spoon in the cup kept tapping against the ceramic. I hadn’t realised my hands were shaking. I’d been too focused on the thought that nothing made sense. How did the cops know Corbin was dead within minutes of me waking up? Who could have informed them so quickly? And how the f**k was Corbin dead? The argument had been private, behind locked doors. So why was I the immediate suspect? I squeezed my eyes shut, a tear slipping down my cheek. I should have stayed. I should have stood my ground and explained that I didn't remember anything, that I loved my life even if it was complicated, and that I could never hurt anyone. But fear had taken control, and now I’d branded myself guilty of a crime I hadn’t even committed. Knowing Corbin's family would use their influence to crush me didn’t make it better. They had never accepted me, always treating me like an outsider who didn't belong in their wealthy world. I was completely alone, a fugitive hiding in a town where I knew nobody. As I sat there, lost in my own terrifying thoughts, the bell above the cafe door chimed. I pulled my hood lower, shrinking into myself in a desperate attempt to make sure I remained unnoticed. But seconds later, a shadow fell over my table. “I found you.” The voice was calm, and it sounded terrifyingly certain. Something cold settled low in my spine.