My husband was on a business trip when his plane crashed, leaving a final message.

He said he didn’t want to hold me back and wanted me to terminate the pregnancy and start over.

I couldn’t stop crying. That’s when I heard my son’s voice from inside me.

“Mom, stop crying. Dad isn’t dead at all.

“He’s just scum. Behind your back, he’s running off with his true love. They’ve eloped abroad for their honeymoon.

“I know where his little stash is. While he’s not back yet, let’s grab the money and disappear. We’re set for life!”

The morgue hallway stretched endlessly, the fluorescent lights glaring white.

Ethan Rhodes’ business partner, William Shaw, handed me a note. His “final words.”

Terminate the pregnancy. Start over.

I clutched the paper, my hands shaking.

Half an hour ago, I’d gotten the call: Ethan’s flight had crashed. No survivors.

I rushed to the hospital with my five-month belly, and they told me, “Please accept our condolences.”

Now, even in death, he had someone delivering instructions: terminate the child.

Tears splashed onto the note, smudging each word.

My mother held me from the side, her eyes red too. “Zoe, don’t do this… there’s still someone in your belly...”

“Mom, I want to be alone for a while.”

The hallway fell silent.

I leaned against the wall, slowly sinking to the floor, burying my face in my knees.

Then I heard a childish voice, eerily calm for its age.

“Mom, stop crying. Dad isn’t dead at all.”

My whole body stiffened.

“He’s just scum. Behind your back, he’s running off with his true love. They’ve eloped abroad for their honeymoon.”

I shot my head up. The hallway was empty, completely empty.

I thought I must be imagining things from crying.

I took a deep breath, ready to stand.

Then the voice came again.

“It’s me, Mom. I’m your son!

“Dad wanted you to terminate me because he was afraid you’d claim the inheritance. He thought you didn’t know how much money he had.”

I gripped the fabric of my pants tightly.

This wasn’t a hallucination.

The voice was coming from inside my belly.

I lowered my gaze to my swollen abdomen, my lips trembling.

“…Baby? Liam?” That was the name we gave him.

“Yes, it’s me. Don’t cry yet. Listen to me first.

“Dad didn’t get on that flight. He spent money to forge the passenger list.

“Claire Bennett is his first love. They’ve been together for six months. He wanted you to terminate me, not because he worried about you struggling as a single mom, but because he didn’t want you taking his money.”

My head buzzed.

“The secret compartment in the study, under the third floorboard. Three ledgers, two USB drives, a plane ticket to the Maldives under Claire’s name. Go see for yourself.”

My nails dug into my palms.

“There’s also a bank card with twenty million in it, under Claire’s name, used for asset transfers. Mom, we can start using this money.

“I know where his little stash is. While he’s not back yet, let’s grab the money and disappear. We’re set for life!”

I didn’t say anything.

Footsteps echoed from the far end of the hallway. William had returned.

“Zoe, are you okay? You know what Ethan meant… about the child. Make your decision soon.”

His gaze was concerned, but also like a silent push.

I stood, tears still streaking my face.

But I looked down at my belly.

“Thank you. I’ll think it over.”

He nodded and left.

Liam’s voice drifted over again, unhurried:

“Yes, that’s the expression. Mom, let’s get him.”

I stood in the morgue hallway, my hands on my belly, feeling the tiny life inside.

“Baby.

“You said he went to the Maldives?”

“Yeah, a round-trip ticket under Claire’s name.”

“When will he be back?”

“Two weeks.”

I wiped my face, drying my tears.

Two weeks.

That’s all I need.

After coming back from the hospital, I went straight into the study.

“The safe, behind the bookshelf.”

Liam’s voice was calm. For the first time, I realized there was a safe in the study.

It was built into the wall, with a six-digit combination lock.

“The combination is Claire’s birthday: 920615.”

I paused. 920615. I typed it in. The lock clicked open.

There wasn’t much inside the safe.

A bankbook, two stacks of cash, and a brown paper envelope.

I took the envelope first and opened it.

Inside was a stack of photographs.

Claire’s back by the seaside, Claire sipping coffee in profile, Claire smiling at the camera…

The photos were taken from different angles, like they were secretly snapped, yet not quite.

At the bottom was a folded piece of paper. I opened it; it was in Ethan's handwriting.

“Claire, wait for me.”

Just four words. The strokes were heavy, with indentations on the back, the pen had pressed hard.

I put the photos and letter back without touching anything else.

I opened the bankbook. The account holder was Claire.

Every deposit was over fifty thousand, all transfers from Ethan with the note: “living expenses.”

The last one was a hundred thousand, one month ago.

“Mom, there’s something on the computer too,” Liam said.

I sat at the desk.

Ethan’s computer had fingerprint and password dual verification, but my fingerprint unlocked the first layer.

The second layer was a six-digit password.

“920615.”

I typed it in. The desktop opened.

“Check the recycle bin.”

It showed empty. I opened it anyway, nothing.

“He cleared it before he left,” Liam said. “But clearing doesn’t mean it’s really gone. Do what I say and restore the records.”

Step by step, I followed my son’s instructions. Ten minutes later, the recycle bin had over three hundred recovered files.

I found the chat folder.

Conversations from the past three months with “Claire.”

I opened the topmost message.

Ethan: The tickets are booked, the 15th of next month.

Claire: She won’t find out, right?

Ethan: No. I told her it’s a business trip.

Claire: What about the child? Did you tell her?

Ethan: Not yet. I’ll tell her after I “have an accident.” She’ll accept it more easily.

Claire: How are you going to “have an accident”?

Ethan: I’ve arranged it. Don’t panic, just follow my instructions.

Claire: What if she decides to keep the child?

Ethan: She won’t. I’ll make sure she terminates it. She listens when advised.

I scrolled through each message. Each one was like a pinprick, small but relentless.

Claire asked when he would confront her. He said, “No need, I’ll make her walk away herself.”

She said, “I’m afraid she’ll cause trouble.” He said, “She won’t. She has no temper.”

I closed the computer.

“Mom, there’s a card in the hidden compartment of the safe,” Liam said.

I searched the safe’s secret layer and indeed found another bank card.

“Whose card?” I asked.

“Claire’s. The name is hers, but the money is my dad’s. He transferred part of it before leaving, in case you found out.”

I held the card, flipping it over repeatedly.

“How much?”

“Over four million.”

I silently put the card away. When I stood up, my legs were a little stiff; I leaned on the desk for a moment.

“Mom, aren’t you going to the funeral home?” Liam asked.

“I am.”

I changed into a black dress, no makeup.

The woman in the mirror had red, swollen eyes and pale lips, looking exactly like a pregnant widow.

Perfect. No acting needed.

At the funeral home, the media were already waiting.

Ethan's “belongings” were rolled out in a suitcase: a few clothes, a wallet, a passport.

My hands shook as the staff handed me the suitcase.

I recognized the clothes.

A gray cashmere sweater, one I bought for him last winter.

He had said at the time, “Too expensive, return it,” and I said, “It looks good on you.”

He kept it, but never wore it once.

Now, this sweater, along with a man faking his death, had circled through the airport and returned to me.

I hugged the suitcase, tears splashing onto the lid.

Reporters crowded around, microphones shoved in my face. “Mrs. Rhodes, is there anything you’d like to say to Mr. Rhodes?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

My mother held me, crying as well.

The relatives let out a mix of sighs and murmurs.

I bent over, crying so hard I could barely stand.

The photos made the evening news.

“Financial Tycoon Dies in Plane Crash, Pregnant Wife Collapses in Tears.”

When I got home, I closed the door, tossed the suitcase in the entryway, and leaned against the door.

Liam’s voice came from my belly: “Mom, you really cried your eyes out today. Careful not to puff them up.”

I sighed.

“I’m really sad. That cashmere sweater, over eight thousand bucks I spent on it.”

“…Mom, you’re crying over a sweater?”

“That’s my money, over eight thousand. Wish I hadn’t bought it.”

Liam sounded speechless.

“Tomorrow, we’ll go find Dad’s secret stash. All his assets, forget eight thousand, at least eight million.”

In the days that followed, I started putting on the act of being heartbroken, making sure no one doubted it.

No need to plan it, just replaying Ethan's chat with Claire was enough.

On the third day, William came to the door.

He sat on the living room sofa, dressed in a suit, his expression heavy.

I was in a wrinkled nightgown, hair unwashed for three days, my eyes swollen to slits.

“Zoe, about Ethan… we’re all very saddened. But you know his final wishes. The longer you delay about the child, the worse it is for your health.”

“I know,” I said, head lowered, my voice trembling.

“I’ve arranged everything at the hospital. The procedure will be led by experts; there’s minimal risk.”

I looked up at him, my eyes red-rimmed. “Mr. Shaw, can I have some more time to think?”

He studied me for a few seconds, sighed, and stood up to leave.

The moment the door closed, Liam’s voice sounded:

“Mom, he’s pushing you to terminate because Dad told him to. If the child is born, you get a share of the inheritance. If it’s terminated, you walk away empty-handed.”

“I know.”

“Then why didn’t you argue with him?”

“Not the time yet.”

I stood and went to the bathroom to wash my face.

The woman in the mirror looked haggard, puffy, and streaked with tears.

I dug through a drawer, found a lipstick, swatched it on my hand, then put it back.

Not now.

On the fourth day, I started making calls.

“Hello, Attorney Walker? This is Zoe, Ethan's wife… Yes, I’d like to consult about marital property.”

He was the best divorce lawyer in the city, and his voice lowered on the line:

“Mrs. Rhodes, is now a convenient time to talk?”

“Yes. My husband is dead.”

Silence on the other end for two seconds.

“…My condolences.”

I read him a list of all the assets I could trace under Ethan's name.

After listening, he asked, “Are you sure that’s everything?”

“I’m not sure. That’s why I’m consulting you.”

After hanging up, I contacted the banks and financial advisors.

I didn’t know most of Ethan’s account passwords, but Liam did.

“Mom, the account he hid at Meridian Bank, the password is Claire’s birthday. Just call and ask for the balance. The bank will give it to you.”

I picked up the phone, fingers hesitating.

“And?”

“His Porsche was financed, don’t take it, let him pay it off himself. There’s a house under his mother’s name, you can’t get that. But there’s an apartment in Westwood, bought after the marriage, under his name. You get half.”

“How much is the apartment worth?”

“Over three million at market value. List it as a priority sale, ten thousand below market; it’ll sell within a week.”

I listened and took notes, seventeen items densely listed in my phone memo.

Stocks, investments, deposits, property, each marked with instructions on what to do.

On the fifth day, I went to Ethan's company to collect his “belongings.”

William led me into Ethan’s office. The door closed, and faint voices whispered outside:

“Poor Mrs. Rhodes, coming here with her belly…”

I stood in front of Ethan’s desk for a moment and picked up a photo frame.

It was our wedding photo. He had his arm around my waist, and I was smiling, eyes crinkled.

I put the frame into a box, tears dropping.

William lingered by the door, hesitant to speak.

“Zoe, about Ethan… if there’s anything you need help with, just say so.”

“Thank you, Mr. Shaw.” I wiped my tears. “Can I stay a little longer?”

“Of course.”

The door closed.

I squatted, digging through the box, and opened the backing of the frame.

There was nothing inside.

I wasn’t looking for anything; I just wanted to confirm that he hadn’t left even a single photo.

I took three things from Ethan’s office: our wedding photo, a notebook he'd used for five years, and a pen he never used.

I brought the box home and placed it by the bed.

On the sixth night, I lay in bed, reviewing my phone notes from start to finish.

Forty-three million.

That was Liam’s calculation.

“Mom, are you nervous?”

“Not really.”

“Your heart rate’s at 110.”

“…A little.”

“Don’t worry. Everything you’re doing is legal. It's only natural for a wife to inherit the marital property after her husband passes away. His fake crash is his matter; transferring the assets is yours. No conflict.”

I rolled over, hands on my belly.

“Thank you, Liam.”

Liam paused for two seconds.

“Mom, don’t say that. Wait until I win this for you before you thank me.”

Seven days ago, I was crying at the funeral home. Seven days later, all of Ethan's liquid assets were on their way to me.

Liam’s voice came from my belly, calm and steady.

“Mom, the Bennetts are coming tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“Are you ready?”

I touched my belly.

“Of course.”