Chapter 3: The Finger of Fate
Three days passed. Eleanor remained in a coma at the hospital, a labyrinth of wires and tubes monitoring her fading life. The mansion was quiet, save for the lawyers coming and going, discussing the inheritance and the new power dynamics.
Clarissa was already rearranging the furniture. She moved into the master suite, her laughter echoing in the halls where Eleanor once walked. She felt invincible. She had eliminated the matriarch and the maid in one stroke. All that remained was to ensure the will was finalized before Eleanor passed.
Suddenly, the hospital room grew cold. The monitor beeped with a slow, steady rhythm. Eleanor’s finger twitched. Then, her eyelids fluttered, struggling against the darkness.
Julian, who was sleeping in the chair nearby, bolted upright. "Mom? Mom, can you hear me?"
Eleanor didn't speak. She couldn't. But her eyes moved, searching the room until they found Julian’s face. She struggled to lift her arm, her hand trembling like a leaf in the wind. She pointed—not at the door, not at the ceiling, but directly at the photograph of Clarissa on the bedside table.
"Mom, what is it?" Julian asked, his voice thick with emotion.
May you like
Eleanor mustered every ounce of her remaining strength. She coughed, a terrible, rattling sound, and whispered, her voice barely audible, "The one... in the purple..."
The words hit Julian like a lightning bolt. He stared at his mother, then at the photo. The pieces clicked into place. The purple dress. The way Clarissa hadn't called the ambulance, but had instead focused on accusing Rosa. The missing three minutes of time.
