“Dad isn’t dead, he’s under the floor,” the little girl said, police started digging…

But later, he changed. He started controlling me, questioning every text, every social interaction. I quit my job at the cosmetic store because he said I dressed too flashy.

I cut off friends because he said they were bad influences. Mark interjected. Do you have any medical records? Evidence of psychological or physical abuse? No, Martha replied immediately.

Because I never thought to report the man I once shared a bed with. I thought I could endure it for Anna. Rose raised a hand.

But according to the notes from Julian’s therapist Dr. Fred Sanders you were the one exhibiting controlling behavior. He wrote, Julian shows signs of distress from living with a wife who is impulsive, manipulative, and prone to depressive outbursts. He made that up, Martha said through clenched teeth.

Then what about your messages to your former best friend Laura Mitchell? Rose read aloud. If Julian leaves me, I’ll make sure he never leaves anyone again. There’s a way to silence someone forever if you stay cold enough.

Martha clenched her fists. I was just, venting. Mark stood, placing a piece of evidence on the table, this wasn’t just venting.

He pulled out the cast iron pan with dried blood on the rim. The blood matches Julian’s DNA. This is the murder weapon.

Not a message. Martha lowered her head. But then she looked up, her voice dropping.

Why don’t you mention that Julian filed for divorce? That he was trying to take away my custody of Anna? That he wanted to kick me out of the house I helped build? What did you expect me to do? Richard snapped, no one forced you to kill. There are laws. Where were those laws when I cried every night? Martha whispered.

Where were they when I begged him not to throw me away like trash? Rose spoke slowly, no one denies pain. But no amount of pain justifies burying a body under a kitchen floor. After the confrontation, the investigation team broadened their scope into Martha’s personal relationships.

Mark called in Laura Mitchell Martha’s former best friend to clarify the threatening messages. Laura, a thin woman with curly hair and a distant voice, seemed hesitant at first. We used to be close, she said.

Martha had a tendency to demand attention. She was quick to anger. Do you recall anything she said about Julian? Richard asked.

Laura thought for a moment. Once, she told me, I hate the way he looks at that girl. Like she’s his alone.

If I lose Anna, I have nothing left. I thought it was just jealousy. Rose asked, Do you think Martha is capable of murder? Laura was silent for a moment, then spoke quietly, I don’t want to believe it.

But when I heard Julian had gone missing, I wasn’t surprised. I. I’ve seen that look in her eyes. It wasn’t the look of someone sad.

It was the look of someone who’s made a decision. That night, at Carol’s home, Anna was playing with building blocks. She arranged small bricks into a square shape, placing a plastic figure in the middle.

Carol sat quietly, watching her granddaughter. What are you making, Anna? I’m building a bed for Daddy, the child replied. Like the one we had in our house before.

Carol shivered. Daddy’s not there anymore, sweetheart. He’s in a better place now.

No, he’s not, Anna shook her head. He’s still cold. I saw him shivering in my dream.

Carol hugged her tightly. Daddy loved you very much. But now he needs you to be strong.

He’ll be happy if you’re safe and loved. Anna looked up at her grandmother, her voice soft as the wind, Then, does Mommy love me? Carol choked back a sob. Your mom did something very wrong.

But you are not wrong, Anna. You are just a child. And you will be protected.

At the detention center, Martha was visited by her defense attorney Mr. Victor Anderson, a man in his fifties with graying hair, known for defending difficult cases. Victor spoke bluntly, Martha, I’m not here to help you deny the charges. But I can help you retain some dignity by cooperating and being honest.

Dignity? Martha scoffed. I buried my dignity with Julian. Victor looked her in the eye.

You have one last chance. So that your daughter doesn’t have to grow up ashamed of your name. Martha said nothing.

But for the first time, her eyes didn’t look cold. They looked, conflicted. Maybe even regretful.

The next morning, Rose submitted a report to the provincial court judge. Physical evidence, phone data, recovered video, witness testimony, and the crime scene all align. Martha Grant had motive, opportunity, and means.

The act was premeditated, followed by staging the scene and coercing a child into silence. We officially request charges for first-degree murder with intent along with body concealment and child witness manipulation. The judge nodded.

Permission granted to continue detaining the defendant until the formal trial. Mark looked out the courthouse window as the early morning light spilled onto the street. But he didn’t see hope in that light.

He only saw the raw, unfiltered truth. A man died believing in love. A child lost her childhood witnessing her father’s death.

And a woman perhaps once wounded chose to wound others with her own hands. The child psychology clinic of Dr. Lucy Bennett sat quietly on the second floor of a red brick building in downtown Illinois. Carol held Anna’s hand as they entered, her face tense despite her efforts to remain calm.

Anna hadn’t spoken a word all morning, simply clutching her old teddy bear, peepo a birthday gift from Julian last year and walking slowly. A nurse named Diana Johnson greeted them. Hello, Mrs. Carol.

Can Anna come with me? Carol looked at her granddaughter and gently nodded. I’ll be right outside, sweetheart. Anna didn’t respond.

She turned her face away but let nurse Diana lead her in. The therapy room was colorful, one corner with a shelf of picture books, another with a dollhouse. Anna was invited to sit in a small chair, across from Dr. Lucy Bennett a woman in her 40s with light brown hair and calm eyes.

Your name is Anna, right? Lucy asked, her voice as soft as a breeze. Anna nodded. Do you like drawing? Anna nodded again, pulling from her pocket a small crayon and a sheet of paper folded into quarters.

She unfolded it and laid it on the table, a scribbled drawing. Lucy leaned forward. In the picture was a room, a kitchen, and a figure lying flat beneath a tiled floor.

The tiles were shaded gray, and the man was drawn face down, with no eyes or nose just a dark, shadowy human form. Who is this, Anna? That’s Daddy, the girl replied. Lucy closed her eyes for a moment.

What is Daddy doing? Daddy’s under the floor. Where the new tiles are. He’s very cold.

Lucy tilted her head gently. Who told you that? I heard it, Anna said. Daddy called me.

I dreamed he was shivering and saying, Anna. I’m so cold. Outside, Carol sat beside Mark, who had arrived to check in on the situation.

She hasn’t said much, Carol sighed. But my granddaughter, she knows. More than we imagined.

Mark sat in silence, his gaze thoughtful. I once asked Anna, where’s your dad? And she answered without flinching. With a brutal kind of truth.

Carol turned to him, her voice cracking. A four-year-old child shouldn’t have to live in that kind of truth, Chief. Mark nodded…