"It's gonna be tough identifying the victim, Captain Hawkins," Garet said, his voice reflecting the seriousness of the situation.

"Yeah, Mr. Collins," replied Sebert Hawkins, a seasoned captain in the police department at 45 years old. He had seen his fair share of grim scenes over the years, and this was right up there—an investigator's worst nightmare. Apart from the challenge of solving the case, there was always the hope it wouldn't turn out to be someone they knew, sparing them extra heartache.

Sebert gave clear instructions, "Mr. Wood, team up with the forensic doc. Figure out the gender and any other details from the body. Mr. Collins, gather evidence, check the CCTV, and chat with folks around here."

"Got it, Capt." Garet and Bernard Wood had worked together on plenty of cases, forming a kind of unspoken understanding. Even though Garet operated as a private eye while Sebert and Bernard were cops, their teamwork was spot-on, resulting in a solid track record of solving cases. I stood nearby, nodding along, eager to see how they'd crack the case this time.

It was almost the end of July, still scorching hot. Garet's forehead and back were soaked with sweat, leaving a big damp spot on his shirt as he strolled along the pedestrian path near Silver Bridge.

Away from the hustle of cops, curious onlookers, and reporters, he moved around the spot where a cyclist had stumbled upon a hefty black plastic bag snagged on the riverbank earlier that day. I followed along, curious to see their investigative approach unfold.

The bag had been sitting there for a few days, just another piece of trash until the cyclist caught wind of an awful smell and a cloud of flies buzzing around it. That was the tipping point—he immediately dialed the police.

And there it was, the horrific discovery of a murder victim. The body was nearly charred beyond recognition, about 90% burnt. It was a real challenge; there were no personal items left behind, no fingerprints or obvious physical features to go on. The police were left with relying on forensic analysis, DNA, or dental records, but without a starting point, progress would be slow.

That was why the CCTV footage and witness accounts were crucial. Any odd sightings or unusual people nearby could be the key to unraveling the mystery.

The problem was, this spot was in an industrial area, quiet and mostly deserted, especially near the river. Garet noticed a group of female factory workers who seemed both curious and anxious about the situation.

"Wow, is the body really burned that badly? It's so scary!"

"Yeah, they say it's so bad that they can't even tell who it was. Makes me think twice about taking night shifts around here."

"Poor soul. How could something like this happen to them?"

"Wait, are you saying there might be more than one victim? That's insane!"

"No, I think the police are not sure if it's a man or a woman yet."

"My friend got a closer look and thinks it's probably a woman."

"Oh my god, this is nuts. I'm feeling really uneasy now. I'm calling my husband to come pick me up."

The conversation buzzed with concern and disbelief, reflecting the shock and fear rippling through the community as news of the grisly discovery spread.

Listening in on the women's conversation, Garet fell silent for a moment. I noticed him pull out his phone and dial someone. The name "[Livy]" flashed on the screen. After a while, the call still hadn't connected, and he grumbled in frustration, pressing the red button. "Why aren't you answering? Are you still mad? So dumb!"

I chuckled and teased, "You're the one being dumb." But his expression stayed serious.

We resumed walking, circling the area. Garet didn't glean much useful info from the locals, except that the place got pretty dark at night and was littered with abandoned buildings—prime conditions for foul play. Luckily, there were plenty of CCTVs around the factories and offices facing the riverbank, offering a glimmer of hope. If any of those cameras captured the culprit, it could crack the case wide open.

He scribbled down the names of buildings with potential CCTV coverage and called in some backup to start reviewing footage from a few days prior. Thirty minutes later, his team of ten investigators arrived. They split up efficiently, each pair tasked with combing through the CCTV footage and securing copies. With over twenty buildings to cover, it was a race against time.

By half past six, as the sky began to darken, they regrouped in the parking lot. "How's it going, team?" Garet inquired.

"We've checked ten facilities' CCTV from the day before the bag surfaced, but no luck so far. We did see the bag drifting with the water from the east, but there weren't many operational buildings in that direction," reported one of the investigators.

"Yeah, most of them were abandoned or still under construction. Only five offices seemed active," added another.

"Alright, let's wrap it up for today. We'll focus on those offices tomorrow. Did everyone manage to get copies of the footage, just in case?" Garet confirmed.

"Yes, sir," they chorused.

"Good, dismissed. See you tomorrow morning at 9 sharp!"

I watched as they headed to their cars, leaving Garet alone in the dimly lit parking lot. The police and crowd had cleared out earlier in the afternoon.

He grabbed his phone and dialed someone. "Bernard, any updates?" he asked as he leaned against his car.

"Yes and no," Bernard replied on the other end.

"What do you mean?" Garet's voice showed a hint of frustration.

"We've determined it's a woman, but we haven't uncovered any other details about the burned victim," Bernard explained.

"Alright, I reviewed some CCTV footage, but nothing significant yet. My team will comb through the eastern section of the industrial area tomorrow. I'll keep you posted," Garet said, making mental notes.

After exchanging a few more words, they ended the call. Garet got into his car and drove off in the direction of our house.

But instead of going straight home, the car made a detour and stopped in front of an apartment building. A strikingly beautiful girl stood at the gate in a t-shirt, shorts, and a cardigan. Jane Dunne ran her fingers through her brunette hair before getting into the passenger seat. It used to be my place, but now I felt indifferent, just observing quietly from the backseat.

Jane fastened her seatbelt and glanced at the rearview mirror without saying a word. Then, she asked Garet to lower the AC as she felt chilly.

The drive resumed in silence, tension palpable in the air.

"Why did you ask me to come?" Garet started as he drove, his tone slightly strained.

"Nothing, I just wanted to talk. You've seemed so busy lately," Jane replied casually, prompting an eye roll from me in the backseat.

"If you know he's busy, why bother him?" I silently grumbled, growing more annoyed.

"Yeah, lots of work going on. Do you need anything?" Garet asked, trying to shift the conversation.

"Are you working on a new case?" Jane pressed further.

"You know I can't discuss work with anyone," Garet responded firmly.

"But I'm not just anyone, am I?" Jane shot back.

"Oh, just shut up!" I finally snapped, unable to tolerate the situation any longer. It was all becoming nauseating.

Garet slowed the car and eventually came to a stop. He turned to Jane, speaking in a quieter tone, "I need some peace right now. I didn't come here to argue."

After a brief pause, Garet continued driving and eventually pulled over at the same spot where he had picked Jane up earlier.

"I've been feeling a bit anxious lately. I was wondering if you could stay the night," Jane confessed, looking at Garet with her big, pleading eyes.

Garet smiled warmly and affectionately touched the top of her head. "Why? Is something bothering you?"

"No, nothing like that. I just can't stand being alone lately. It would be nice to have someone with me," she explained.

Garet seemed to understand and leaned over to kiss her forehead gently.

Feeling a wave of sickness in my stomach from witnessing this melodrama, I abruptly stormed out of the car without looking back. The wind was howling fiercely as I walked aimlessly through the dark night. It felt like an eternity before I finally arrived at what used to be our home. After only a few months entering our lives, that woman successfully ruined everything for me.

That's a few months.

"Can you hand me Ms. Hannah’s medical history? Her surgery’s tomorrow," I asked the new intern nurse, tapping my fingers on the table. "It’s Sophia Hannah, don’t mix it up, alright?" It was her first month here, and mistakes were becoming a bit of a pattern. I figured nerves were at play, so I tried to give her a gentle heads-up. But delays in getting things right could really affect patient care.

I was juggling surgeries back to back, racing against the clock, so having extra help was crucial. The hospital assigned me an intern to assist with admin tasks. My office walls were lined with framed certificates—awards from internal recognitions to the Distinguished Service Award from the American Society of Anesthesiologists.

Eight years of education and two grueling years of residency had brought me here—a dedicated anesthesiologist with a high success rate. Overcoming doubts and the challenges of pursuing a specialized career wasn’t easy. Being a doctor, especially a specialist, demanded immense energy, time, and financial investment.

But with my strong determination and my mother’s unwavering support, I pushed forward. Raised by a single mother in a rural area, pursuing my dream meant she had to sell inherited land—the only asset we had besides our humble home. I was determined to repay her sacrifice, though she never asked for it.

Just then, my phone beeped—a call from Mom. "Hi, Mom," I greeted eagerly.

"Livia, why haven’t you been home this month? Do you even care about your old mother anymore?" she teased, straight to the point.

I chuckled, "Sorry, Mom, just swamped. Lots of surgeries, I’m wiped."

The conversation with Mom always reminded me of why I pushed myself so hard. It was for her, for us, and for the patients relying on me every day.

To which Mom replied, sounding concerned, “Don’t overwork yourself, Livia. Come home with Garet and spend some time in nature. Aren’t you tired of dealing with blood and flesh all the time?”

Since I moved to the city a decade ago, Mom and I barely saw each other—maybe twice every few months, mostly just catching up over the phone like now. I felt guilty and offered to have her come live with me and my husband, but she refused, saying she couldn’t stand the polluted air and noisy city life. All she really wanted was for us to give her a grandchild soon. She even joked about raising her in our quiet rural village if we were too busy with work.

There was one thing I hadn’t told her, though—Garet and I had been too caught up in our own lives to even think about having a child. We’d dated on and off for seven years before finally tying the knot three years ago.

Initially, our marriage was blissful and harmonious, but over time, our demanding jobs built a wall between us, brick by brick. We lost that spark, you know? Especially in the past month. My duties as an anesthesiologist had me working late into the night, often coming home at dawn, while Garet’s job as a private detective kept him just as occupied. He even had a small office with a bed, and he often ended up sleeping there.

We only managed to meet a few times a week, and even then, it was just in passing. “How’s work? Good?” and “Honey, sorry I’m tired,” were our usual exchanges. It felt more like being acquaintances than a married couple.

But no matter how exhausted I was, I always made sure to take care of Garet’s needs at home—cooking for him, laying out his clothes, and making his favorite black coffee in the mornings. I tried my best to be a good wife despite my hectic schedule.

Today was Sunday, my rare day off, so I asked Garet if he could take a break too. There was a moment of silence before he agreed. I planned to take him out for a meal, something we used to enjoy together.

I dressed in a casual midi dress adorned with cute cherry ornaments, chic yet age-appropriate. After a light touch of makeup and fixing my hair, I walked over to where he was waiting in the living room.

He was engrossed in his phone, looking serious—probably working. The soft glow of the screen accentuated his handsome features: sharp jawline, high nose, and a gaze that could be both intimidating and captivating. Despite wearing a black polo and chinos, he managed to look effortlessly stylish, almost like a wealthy mogul's son on vacation. It dawned on me then that clothes truly complemented his already striking appearance. With his athletic build and aristocratic-like face, he could make any outfit look good, even a sack.

Eventually, Garet noticed my presence and glanced up. His expression remained stoic, but a very subtle smile played on his lips, and his eyes gave me a look of approval. After years together, I had learned to read his micro expressions—a skill he excelled in as a detective. It had proven useful on numerous occasions.

"Ready?" he asked, breaking the moment.

"Yeah, do you want to swing by the supermarket after lunch? I need to pick up a few things for Mom," I replied. It was noon, and we planned to enjoy a leisurely lunch followed by a stroll through the city park.

"Sure, why not?" Garet stood up from the sofa, and I followed suit. But just as we were about to head out to the car, my phone began to ring. I rolled my eyes in annoyance—it was a call from my colleague. I typically ignored work calls on my day off, but the frequency of missed calls suggested it might be urgent.

"Yeah?" I answered as soon as I picked up.

"Doc, sorry for bothering you. Can you come to the hospital? We can't locate a patient's file," my colleague explained.

"Why don’t you ask Miss Dunne? Isn't she on duty?" I suggested, Miss Dunne was my intern.

"We already did, but she doesn't know where it is," came the frustrating reply.

I sighed deeply. This was supposed to be a peaceful day off for me. "Okay, I'll be there. Just wait for me," I finally conceded, feeling a pang of disappointment. The senior nurse on the other end thanked me and hung up.

Garet glanced at me with concern. "Everything okay?"

"Work calls. Sorry, honey, can we swing by the hospital first? I’ll be quick," I replied apologetically, already feeling guilty about cutting short our time together. I wanted Garet to have a break from work today, but my mind was preoccupied with the office.

He nodded understandingly, and we got into the car, heading towards the hospital.

After about 20 minutes of driving, we arrived at the imposing Centra Medica Hospital, where I've been working. Its modern design spoke volumes about its prestige—it was recognized as the best hospital in the nation, attracting international patients seeking treatment for various illnesses.

Garet parked the red BMW, and we walked to my office. He waited outside while I entered, greeted by a trio of faces displaying a range of emotions—anger, confusion, and fear. The senior nurse who had called me earlier explained the situation. Once again, my intern had made a mistake, mixing up some files. Patient data had been swapped between doctors, causing a minor uproar. The immediate crisis was resolved, but I was frustrated.

The intern looked visibly scared, likely having faced reprimands before. I felt sympathy, but this couldn't continue. I asked the other two individuals to step out, leaving just the intern and me.

"Miss Dunne, I know you're still learning and have a lot ahead of you. But I need you to be more careful moving forward. If another mistake happens, I'll have to discuss transferring you from my department with the director," I said in the calmest tone I could muster, though her doe-eyed expression tugged at my empathy.

"Okay, you can go now. Just remember to slow down and work accurately," I added gently.

She nodded earnestly. "Yes, Doctor. Thank you."

I watched her leave, hoping this conversation would serve as a turning point for her attention to detail. Turning back to my day off, I sighed inwardly, feeling the weight of responsibilities that often spilled over into personal time.

As I was walking out of the room, I noticed the girl suddenly stop in her tracks and stare at Garet. Her eyes widened in shock. “Garry? You….”

I frowned, wondering what was going on. Why were they both so stunned?

Garet quickly regained his composure and put on his usual neutral expression. “Is everything alright?” I asked, trying to understand the sudden tension.

“No, no. I must’ve mistaken him for someone else. I’m sorry,” she stammered, clearly flustered.

“Alright, let’s get going, Garet. I think we still have time to grab lunch at Olive’s,” I said, stepping between them to break the awkwardness. Garet quickly followed, and we headed out of the hospital around 1 p.m. The lunch plan wasn’t completely ruined yet.

As we drove through the city, the tall buildings reflecting the afternoon sun, I sighed and broke the silence. Garet was focused on the road, not saying much.

“Garet, Mom’s been asking us to visit. When do you think we can go?” I asked, hoping to make some plans.

“Hmm, I’m not sure. I’ll check my schedule and let you know,” he replied, still focused on driving.

“Okay. It’s just that we haven’t been in touch with her for a while. How are your parents doing?” I asked, trying to make conversation.

“They’re... fine, I guess. Haven’t talked to them much recently. Mom did call last week, though. She’s still on about wanting a grandbaby,” Garet said, his tone as monotone as ever.

I couldn’t help but laugh at that, and decided not to mention that my mom had been saying the same thing. It might have made things awkward. Garet’s parents had always been kind to me. Sometimes, I even thought that part of the reason Garet agreed to marry me was because his parents had never approved of his relationships with anyone else.

To shift the mood, I decided to play some music from my playlist and clicked on one of my favorite oldies. Ricky Nelson’s “I Will Follow You” started playing, its upbeat intro filling the car. We both had a soft spot for these classic tunes, so it wasn’t unusual for us to bond over them.

I will follow you

Follow you wherever you may go

There isn't an ocean too deep

A mountain so high it can keep me away

I must follow you

Ever since you touched my hand I know

That near you, I always must be

And nothing can keep you from me

You are my destiny

We’d spent many drives and meals enjoying songs like this, whether we were aimlessly cruising around the city or just grabbing a bite to eat.

As the familiar melody filled the car, I was instantly transported back to those carefree college days when our biggest concern was which diner to visit next. I hummed along to the song, and Garet glanced over at me with a smile. It seemed he was feeling the nostalgia too.

“Garet, you know I will follow you around,” I said playfully, not entirely sure why I said it but feeling it was fitting in the moment.

“Won’t you be tired?” he asked with a teasing tone.

I nudged his arm lightly and replied, “Never.”

After a couple more songs, we pulled up to Olive’s, our favorite restaurant. I ordered my usual: carbonara spaghetti and garlic bread, while Garet went for his go-to chicken with honey sauce. We chatted about everything and nothing as we ate, bouncing from one topic to another.

At some point, Garet asked about my work. We’d both been so busy lately that I hadn’t had a chance to fill him in. I told him about the new intern nurse who had been causing problems at the hospital.

“What’s her name?” Garet asked, looking curious.

“Dunne. Jane or Joanna Dunne, I think. Do you know her?” I asked, recalling the strange interaction we’d had earlier that day.

He paused for a moment before saying, “I’m not sure. She looked a bit like someone I knew back in high school.”

“Who? She seemed younger than us. How would you know her?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“It’s just a vague memory. Could be wrong,” Garet replied with a shrug. I studied his face and saw that he seemed sincere, so I decided not to press further. We hadn’t had a chance to relax and enjoy each other’s company like this in ages, and I didn’t want to spoil it.

After our meal, we decided to stop by a nearby supermarket to pick up some health supplements and multivitamins for my mom. She was getting older, and I wanted to make sure she had everything she needed to stay healthy.

With plenty of daylight left, I thought it’d be nice to continue our outing. I suggested we grab some cookies or coffee at our favorite café. On the way there, I called up my best friend, Roxanne. We all went to the same college, though we studied different subjects. Despite that, we had become quite close.

Roxanne was thrilled at the idea of catching up, especially since it had been months since we last saw each other. So there we were, sitting by the café’s window, enjoying our coffee and chatting like old times. Roxanne had a knack for bringing humor to any situation, and today was no different. She joked about how Garet looked a bit worn out from dealing with criminals all the time. She also supported my mom’s advice about taking a break and spending a few days in the village.

“Maybe you two can finally get around to doing some ‘teamwork’,” Roxanne teased, clapping her hands in a playful gesture and winked. Her bold and loud personality always added a unique flair to our trio. Garet’s serious demeanor and my tendency to mirror people were perfectly balanced by Roxanne’s vibrant energy. It was good to be reminded of the simple joys of friendship and laughter.

Not long after, a man in his early thirties strolled over to our table. He had a thin frame and a bit of an awkward demeanor, with curly hair that seemed to have a mind of its own. But when he started talking, his warm, engaging personality was like a breath of fresh air. This was Leon Perez, the manager of the café. He was someone we’d gotten to know over the years because we were regulars here. We were more like friends than just customers.

“Hey! Where have you all been? I thought you’d moved abroad without a word,” Leon greeted us with a grin.

“Sorry, Leon. Work’s been crazy busy,” I said. “What about you? You never drop by Livy’s hospital or Garet’s office, and don’t even get me started on my radio station,” Roxanne shot back with a playful tone.

Leon’s grandparents had come to this country as immigrants and had a tough start, but they persevered. D’Perez, the café, was a testament to their hard work. Over the decades, it grew from a small shop into a successful chain with branches all over the state. Leon was now managing the one in Kingsleigh, the city where we lived.

When we first started coming here, it was a quiet little spot with great service and an even better menu. The business took off, the place expanded, but it still retained that cozy, welcoming atmosphere that made us feel at home.

Leon and Garet chatted about everything from the latest news to upcoming elections and DIY projects. Meanwhile, Roxanne and I caught up on each other’s lives, swapping stories and laughing about old times.

I felt a genuine sense of happiness as I sat there, enjoying the perfect day and the company of friends over coffee. Life felt so good, and everything seemed to click into place after catching up with people we cared about.

Garet and Leon stepped outside for a smoke break, and Roxanne turned to me with a mischievous smile. “So, how’s things between you and him?” she asked, clearly curious.

“Me and Garet? I think we’re okay, at least today,” I said. “We’ve been so caught up in work that we kind of lost our spark over the past few months, but today felt like a nice change.”

I went on to describe our “little date” and how the day almost took a nosedive because of the incident at the hospital.

“Wait, hold on,” Roxanne interrupted, suddenly looking intrigued. “What’s the intern’s name again?”

“Why does everyone care so much about her name? Is she someone famous?” I asked, puzzled.

“It just sounds really familiar. Dunne? Jane Dunne? Oh my God,” Roxanne said, her expression shifting to one of disbelief.

“What’s wrong? Do you know her?” I asked, leaning in.

“Of course I do. Do you have her photo?” Roxanne’s tone was urgent.

I hesitated for a moment before pulling out my phone and showing her a group photo from a colleague’s birthday party we’d taken just two weeks ago.

Roxanne’s eyes widened as she looked at the picture. “Yes, that’s her.”

“You know her?” I asked again, my curiosity mounting.

“Actually, we both do,” Roxanne said slowly.

“Wait, what do you mean?” I was getting more confused.

“You remember Garet’s ex? She was a freshman when they dated in high school, 3 years younger,” Roxanne said carefully.

I stared at her, trying to piece things together. “What? You mean, that Jane…?”

Before I could finish my thought, it all clicked into place. The Jane from Garet’s past was the same Jane who was now the intern at the hospital.

I turned to look at Garet, who was chatting with Leon outside, and a wave of unease washed over me. I might have been overreacting, but the sudden realization felt like a sharp jab in my gut. Something about it just didn’t sit right, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this than met the eye.