Mr. Wong didn’t open the baby’s room door right away. He stood there, eyes closed, like he was listening to something only he could hear. Then he murmured, “The spirit is strong… and furious. It’s not ready to leave. It wants to see this family torn apart before it moves on.”

Emily’s breath hitched. “Can you help us?”

“I can,” Wong said slowly, “but it will come at a cost.”

Sean leaned against the hallway wall, arms crossed. “How much are we talking about? A couple hundred for your time?”

Wong turned his head, and for the first time that afternoon, looked Sean straight in the eye. “One hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

Sean almost laughed. “You’re serious?”

“You think this is a game? If I attempt to banish it, I will be risking my own life force. This isn’t some parlor trick—it’s a battle. The spirit’s anger is not ordinary. It’s the anger of a child who died unjustly.”

Emily’s face crumpled. “Sean… please.”

Sean exhaled through his nose. “Let me think about it.”

“You don’t have time to think,” Wong snapped. “The spirit now knows you’re aware of it. That makes it dangerous. The longer you wait, the more it will want to hurt you.”

“We’ll take that risk,” Sean said, keeping his voice calm.

But Emily wouldn’t let it go. The moment Wong left, she turned on him in the living room, her voice tight and trembling. “You’re really going to risk my life over money?”

“I’m not risking your life. I’m protecting our bank account from—”

“From what? From someone actually helping me?” She snatched up her phone and stormed down the hall.

An hour later, Sean’s own phone buzzed. It was his mother-in-law.

“Sean, I just got off the phone with Emily. What the hell is wrong with you?” Her voice came sharp and fast, each word like a slap. “That girl has been through hell. She’s barely hanging on. And you can’t even spend money to save her?”

“It’s a scam, Mary.”

“A scam? The man turned the light on in that room from the hallway! How do you explain that? Science?”

Sean pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll think about it.”

“Think faster.” She hung up.

That night, Emily barely spoke to him. She sat on the couch scrolling her phone, lips pressed in a hard line. Every now and then she’d glance at him, but when he looked back, her eyes darted away.

Sean watched her out of the corner of his eye. She was too invested in Wong, too quick to defend him. And that light trick? It could’ve been done with a remote switch, a smart bulb, a dozen different ways.

But Sean didn’t argue. Not yet. He needed more than suspicion.

He leaned back, forcing his voice into something warm. “Okay. I’ll get the money.”

Emily’s head whipped toward him. “You will?”

“Yeah. But I need a couple of days to pull it together. Cash. You know how banks are with large withdrawals.”

She crossed the room and hugged him tight, burying her face against his chest. “Thank you. You don’t know what this means to me.”

Sean smiled faintly over her shoulder, his eyes cold.

Two days. That was all he needed.

Sean had learned the hard way that if you wanted the truth, you didn’t ask—you watched.

So that night, he played the part of the exhausted husband. Dinner, a shower, an hour of mindless TV. He crawled into bed early, letting his breathing grow slow and heavy until it slipped into a fake snore.

Beside him, Emily shifted once, twice. He felt her hand brush his shoulder, light as a feather. “Sean?” she whispered.

He kept still.

A moment later, the mattress dipped as she slid out of bed. The faint squeak of the bedroom door. Her footsteps on the stairs. Then—silence.

Sean waited thirty seconds before moving. He slipped out from under the covers and padded barefoot to the upstairs balcony. From there, he had a clear view of the street.

The front door opened. Emily stepped out into the cold night air, wearing black leggings and a hoodie, her hair pulled back tight. She glanced around, then walked quickly down the block.

A pair of headlights flashed from the corner. A dark sedan rolled up, and Emily slid into the passenger seat without hesitation.

Sean pulled out his phone and hit a speed dial. “Follow her,” he said when his friend answered.

“On it,” Tom replied.

Then came the waiting. Sean sat in the dark, phone in hand, until it buzzed half an hour later. A video file. He tapped it open.

The footage was grainy and tinted green from night vision. The sedan had parked in an empty lot at the edge of an industrial area. Through the windshield, two silhouettes leaned toward each other.

Then the shapes grew frantic. Clothes moved. Skin flashed.

Sean felt his stomach tighten, but he forced himself to watch. The camera zoomed slightly, just enough to catch a partial profile in the glow of the dashboard light.

Mr. Wong.

Sean’s jaw clenched so hard it ached. The “healer” who claimed to be battling his son’s spirit was in a car with his wife, doing anything but prayer.

A second video came through. Emily and Wong spilled out of the car, both laughing. She wore nothing but her hoodie. He didn’t bother to hide himself as they moved to the back of the vehicle, pressing against each other in the open air.

Sean closed the video. His pulse pounded in his ears, but under the fury, a colder thought formed.

If Emily could do this behind his back… what else could she hide?

The baby.

Until now, it had never crossed his mind to doubt paternity. The math had always added up—they were married, she’d gotten pregnant months later. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t been with someone else at the same time.

And if the baby wasn’t his… then maybe his death hadn’t been an accident.

Sean called Tom back. “I need another favor.”

“Name it.”

“You know the cemetery where we buried him. And the hospital where he was born.” Sean’s voice was low, deliberate. “I want DNA. Both sources. Whatever it takes.”

There was a pause. “You think—”

“I don’t think. I need to know.”

“Got it. I’ll handle it.”

Sean ended the call and sat in the dark for a long time, staring at the street where Emily had disappeared. His mind replayed the image of her in Wong’s arms, of the strange satisfaction in her eyes lately.

If what he suspected was true—if the child wasn’t his, and she’d killed him to keep it hidden—then the woman sleeping beside him at night wasn’t just unfaithful. She was dangerous.