I Thought I Buried Her Forever

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Yesterday, something impossible happened: my wife, dead for three years, was in a car accident.

It took me back to that night three years ago, her birthday. I came home early and caught a sweet, musky scent as I entered. Following it to the bedroom, I found her and my assistant, Mark, in our bed. I can still hear Mark pant, God, Hannah, youre incredible, and Hannahs throaty laugh, What if Nathan walked in? Hes a spineless loser, just like his son. Soon Ill leave him with nothing.

Hannah never woke up the next morning.

I fired Mark in her name, blacklisting him for good. I told her parents she was on a long-term assignment and handled all her work myself, claiming she was traveling for business. When they wanted to see her, I used deepfake calls. I kept her things just as she left them. Hannah was a loner, and I ran the company dailyso no one suspected a thing.

With the company now mine, life became more stable than ever. I planned to announce shed gone missing out of state once my position was secure, and bury the truth forever.

I never imagined an accident like yesterdays could happen.

The name flashing on my phone screen made me freeze. It was my father-in-law. He never called this late.

The moment I answered, his voice, ragged with tears, shattered the silence.

"Nathan! It's Hannah! There's been an accident!"

"A car crash! She's... she's not going to make it. You have to get here, now!"

My head felt like it had been split open with a sledgehammer.

Hannah, in a car accident? How?

Three years ago, I pressed the pillow over her face myself. I watched her legs kick and thrash, and then I watched them go still. I dragged her body into the backyard and dug for four straight hours under the old magnolia tree, my hands raw and bleeding.

There was no possible way she could have been in a car accident.

"Nathan? Nathan, are you listening to me?!" His voice rose to a panicked shriek. "She rear-ended a semi on the highway! The car... it burned! She's burned all over! You have to come!"

"They've taken her to City General, the doctors said..." He couldn't finish, breaking down into ragged sobs.

My brain was a screaming, overloaded machine. A cold sweat slicked my palms.

Hannah died three years ago.

Who was this "Hannah" lying in the hospital?

Why was her father so certain it was her? Was it a case of mistaken identity? Or... had someone found out?

"Daddy?"

Noah was standing in the bedroom doorway, rubbing his eyes. I hadn't even realized he'd woken up.

"Daddy, why are you crying? What's wrong with Mommy?"

Only then did I feel the wet tracks on my own cheeks. I scrubbed them away, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. "It's nothing, buddy. Mommy... Mommy had a little accident. Daddy has to go see her."

"Is Mommy going to die?" he asked, his voice small.

"No," I said, crouching to hug him tight. "Mommy's not going to die. I'll take you to see her, okay?"

I couldn't leave him here alone. If the truth came out, if the police came... what would happen to Noah if they took me away?

As I led him out the front door, I glanced back at the magnolia tree in the yard.

The highways were empty in the pre-dawn gloom. I floored it, my mind racing, replaying every detail of the last three years. The hundreds of deepfake videos I'd made, sent to her parents every month like clockwork. The employees, all believing Hannah was managing a branch office in another state. The few times someone asked, I'd just say she was busy, that she hated talking on the phone. She was always antisocial anyway, with no close friends and distant relatives she never saw.

There were no holes. I'd gone over it a hundred times. There were no holes.

So why was there a "Hannah" in the hospital? Why did her father think it was her?

A terrible thought wormed its way into my mind.

What if... what if I didn't kill her three years ago?

Impossible.

I saw her face turn from crimson to a deathly purple. I saw her pupils dilate. I saw her chest go still. I checked for a pulse in her neck. There was nothing. She was dead.

The sky was just beginning to lighten as I pulled into the City General parking garage. I parked the car, gently woke Noah, and we ran towards the emergency building.

The moment we stepped into the lobby, a figure lunged at me, grabbing my arm in a vice grip.

It was my mother-in-law, Martha, her eyes red and swollen.

"Nathan! What happened? Why was Hannah driving home in the middle of the night?" she shrieked. "Did you two fight? Did you force her to come back?!"

"Martha, I didn't..." I started, a reflex denial.

"You didn't? Then why would she risk her life driving back at this hour?!" Her words were like shrapnel, spitting with rage. "Tell me! What did you say to her?!"

"I didn't say anything," I stammered, my voice trembling. "She... she didn't tell me she was coming back."

"Bullshit!" she screamed, shoving me away.

Noah, terrified, burst into tears and clung to my leg. I bent down to scoop him into my arms just as my father-in-law, Arthur, hurried over.

He grabbed his wife's arm. "Martha, stop it, you're scaring the boy! Why are you yelling at him?"

"Why am I yelling?" she shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at me. "Ask him! Ask him what he did to our daughter to make her drive like a maniac in the middle of the night!"

"It was me," Arthur said quietly.

We all froze.

He wiped a tear from his eye. "I texted her... I told her you were having heart pains, that she should come home when she had a chance..."

Martha's mouth hung open.

"We haven't seen her in three years, Martha," he whispered. "Nathan, it's my fault. Your mother's been having chest pains, I got scared..."

"That's enough," a voice cut in. A doctor in scrubs emerged from the ICU, his face grim. "Who is the patient's family?"

"Me! I'm her father!" Arthur rushed forward. "Doctor, how is my daughter?"

The doctor sighed. "The patient has extensive burns over most of her body and severe head trauma. She's in a deep coma. The chances of her waking up are very slim. You need to prepare yourselves."

Arthur's legs gave out, and he crumpled to the floor.

"You can go in and see her," the doctor added, "but don't stay long."

I helped Arthur to his feet and we walked into the ICU. I saw the person on the bed.

She was wrapped head to toe in white gauze, her face completely obscured. A web of tubes snaked from her body to the machines beside the bed, which beeped in a steady, rhythmic pulse.

But the frame...

My pupils constricted. The height, the build... it was Hannah's, exactly.

How could two people in the world look so identical?

Unless...

An insane, impossible thought detonated in my mind, making my scalp crawl.

Just then, the door to the room swung open again.

"Well, look at this. Quite the party."

The voice was a needle, stabbing into the base of my skull. I whipped my head around. It was Mark, someone I hadn't seen in years.

And he had two police officers with him.

"Long time no see, Nate," he said with a lazy smile.

My blood ran cold. "What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice dry. "I've told you a dozen times, I don't know why Hannah cut you off."

For three years, Mark had been hounding me, always for the same reason: he wanted to see Hannah.

"Oh, I know," he said, tilting his head. "Imagine my surprise when I spotted Hannah's car in Ridgefield. I followed her, thought I'd ask her myself." His gaze slid past me. "Turned out I got a front-row seat to watch her plow into the back of a semi."

He paused, a slow, cruel smile spreading across his face.

"But here's the thing, Nate. A person burned this badly... completely unrecognizable... how can anyone prove it's really Hannah?"

My heart plummeted.

Arthur spun around from the bedside. "What are you trying to say?!"

"Easy there, sir," Mark said, strolling forward. "I just think, with something this serious, it's better to be sure. After all..." His eyes locked onto mine. "What if the person in that bed... isn't Hannah at all?"

"You son of a bitch!" Arthur lunged, ready to tear him apart. "That's my daughter! I saw the license plate! It was her car! You think I don't know my own daughter's car?"

In that instant, my heart stopped.

That car.

Two years ago, I sold that car for a pittance to a shady used-car dealer from out of state. He'd promised me he was shipping it across the country, that it would never be seen in this city again.

And now, here it was.

My eyes were drawn back to the bandaged figure in the bed.

"Nate?" Mark's voice snapped me back to reality. "You look a little pale. Feeling okay?" He stared at me, his smile widening. "Something on your conscience?"

He'd suspected for a long time. The way Hannah had cut him off so abruptly... it was my one oversight.

"The only thing on my conscience is not firing the scumbag who was sleeping with my wife sooner," I shot back, my voice dripping with scorn, even as my heart hammered against my ribs. "I'm just... worried about Hannah."

"Worried?" Mark scoffed. "Officer, don't you think my suggestion is worth considering?"

One of the officers stepped forward. "Sir, we are currently unable to confirm the victim's identity. We will need a DNA sample for comparison. We hope you'll cooperate."

"No!" Arthur's voice was a raw scream. "That is my daughter! I don't need any test! Why won't you believe me?"

"Sir, please, calm down," Mark said, his voice deceptively gentle as he approached Arthur. "Just think about it. The woman in that bed... what if it's someone else? What if Hannah is perfectly fine somewhere?"

His words were slick, impossible to argue with.

"Mark, what is your game?" I demanded, my voice turning to ice. "The truth is, I haven't been able to contact Hannah."

Mark turned back to me, his smile wide and predatory. "I'm just trying to help, Nate."

"The victim was brought in with no identification," the officer stated.

"Enough!" Martha grabbed her husband's arm. "Have you lost your mind? The officer is right! How can we be sure it's her without a test?" She was breathing heavily, her chest heaving. "What if... what if it's really not her?"

I stood at the foot of the bed, my heart pounding like a war drum.

"I'll do it," Martha said, her jaw set. "Whether it's her or not, we need to know for sure."

"Martha!" Arthur cried out. "Are you crazy? That's our daughter! Can't you see?"

She wrenched her arm free. "I won't claim a daughter I can't even recognize! Officer, what do you need? A blood sample? I'll cooperate."

"No need."

A cold sweat was drenching my back, but I had to speak. If the DNA didn't match, they'd know this "Hannah" was a fake. The police would dig deeper. They'd trace the car. They'd investigate Hannah's whereabouts for the last three years. My entire house of cards would be blown away.

Either way, I was finished.

Then, a desperate, insane idea flashed in my mind. If I could hide her death for three years, why couldn't I find someone to impersonate her now? If "Hannah" called, if she told them herself that the woman in the bed wasn't her, they would have to believe it was all a mistake. After that, Hannah could go back to being "on assignment" indefinitely.

All I needed was a voice. A raspy, indistinct voice.

"I said, there's no need!" I raised my voice. "That's not Hannah. You think I don't know my own wife?" I looked at Martha, pleading. "I wouldn't be mistaken."

Martha stared back, her expression unreadable. "Mom, it's not her. We don't need a test."

As I argued, I was secretly texting my cousin.

Code red. Need a woman, one with a bad cold preferably, to call my phone NOW. Pretend to be Hannah. Say she's out of state, lost her phone, tell family not to worry. Five grand if she does it.

My palms were drenched when I sent the message.

"And how would you know that?" Arthur's voice cut in.

I looked up and met his gaze. My stomach dropped. His eyes weren't filled with grief. They were filled with something else. Something that looked like hatred.

"Dad, I told you, that's not Hannah," I said, my voice wavering.

"How are you so sure?" He took a step closer. "I raised her for thirty years. You've only been married to her for a few. She hasn't been home much these last years, how do you know she hasn't changed?"

My mouth was dry. I couldn't answer. He was right. I hadn't seen Hannah in three years. Because I had buried her in the backyard.

"It's... a feeling," I mumbled.

Arthur let out a cold laugh. "Nathan, my wife carried that girl for nine months. I could recognize her with my eyes closed. I say that's Hannah. What gives you the right to say it isn't?"

He stood by the bed, his hands gripping the metal rail like a caged animal protecting its young. But there was no grief in his eyes. It was all wrong.

My mind was a chaotic mess.

"That's enough!" Martha's voice broke through the fog. "What are you two arguing about? The police are here! We'll do what they say!"

She turned to the officer, but Arthur spoke first.

"Do it," he said, his voice suddenly calm. "Let the boy do the test."

Noah flinched in my arms.

"Use Noah for the DNA test. He's young, he'll bounce back quick." Arthur's voice was cold. "When the results come in, that's the end of it. No more arguments."

All the blood drained from my body. "Dad! Noah's only six!" I choked out.

"It's just a blood draw, not a death sentence. He's not that fragile," Arthur said dismissively. "So what's your solution? Your mother's too old for this stress, and I have a clotting disorder. Are you saying we just don't do the test because you say it isn't Hannah? Nathan, what are you so afraid of?"

Just then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. A blocked number.

My heart leaped into my throat. "Hold on," I said, pulling out the phone.

The room fell silent. I answered.

"Nathan?"

"Hannah?!" I yelled, forcing a sob into my voice. "Where are you?"

"I'm out of state. I lost my phone, just got a new SIM. Don't worry about me."

Martha's eyes lit up. Arthur's face fell. Mark's smile froze.

The fake Hannah's voice was raspy and full of static, the connection conveniently bad.

"I'm fine. How are Mom and Dad? Are they feeling better?"

Martha snatched the phone from my hand, her own hand shaking. "Hannah? Is that you, baby?"

"It's me, Mom."

Martha's eyes instantly filled with tears. "Oh, thank God... thank God it's not you..." She wiped her eyes and turned to the officers. "You hear that? My daughter is fine. The person in that bed... we don't know her. Please, help find her family."

Arthur stood rooted to the spot, his face ashen, his lips pressed into a thin line. He was staring at my phone.

My heart was pounding, but I kept my face a mask of calm relief.

It worked. As long as the police believed that was Hannah on the phone, this would all go away. My secret would stay buried under the magnolia tree.

"Wait a minute."

Mark's voice cut through the fragile peace. He held out his hand. "Nate, give me the phone."

"Why?" I instinctively hid it behind my back.

"Because this is all a little too convenient," he said, a smirk playing on his lips. "She says she's Hannah, so she's Hannah? Hell, I could say I'm Hannah. Let me ask her a few questions." He took a step forward. "The truth will out, right?"

"Mark, you're crossing a line!" I snapped, my voice shaking.

"Am I?" he cocked his head. "Why so nervous, Nate? It's just a few questions. Unless..." His gaze drilled into me. "Unless you know damn well the person on the other end of this line isn't Hannah at all."

The air turned to ice.

"Nathan," Martha said, the relief on her face curdling into suspicion. "Let him ask. It's better to be sure. For everyone's peace of mind."

Mark snatched the phone. "Hello? Hannah? It's Mark. Remember me?"

There was a two-second pause. "I remember."

"You do?" Mark's smile was pure poison. "Then do you remember what you said to me on the night of your birthday, three years ago?"

My heart seized. That night. The night I found them in our bed.

"Don't remember, Hannah?" Mark's voice was a singsong taunt. "You told me a lot of things that night."

"I don't remember. I was drunk."

"Drunk?" Mark laughed. "But Hannah, you're allergic to alcohol. You never drink."