I Said 'I Do' to My Mother's Killer - Chapter 1: Chapter 1
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My mother was critically ill, clinging to life, so I begged my fiancé to advance the dowry for her surgery. But instead of helping, he abandoned me—running straight into the arms of Taylor Harper.
In that moment of utter despair, my childhood friend Matt Harris dropped to one knee in the hospital and proposed. He handed me a dowry of $150,000 without hesitation. I said yes immediately, and my mother's surgery was arranged.
But she never made it off the operating table.
Grief swallowed me whole, and Matt stepped in, handling her funeral when I couldn't. We still went through with the wedding—because what else was I supposed to do?
Five years later, I overheard a conversation that shattered everything.
"Matt," the doctor said, voice low. "You never told Fiona Kingsley the truth—that you used her mother's organ to save Debbie Marshall, Taylor's aunt. What if she finds out? Are you really willing to risk it all for Taylor?"
Matt's reply was ice in my veins: "If she does, then so be it. I'd do anything for Taylor. One life in exchange for another. I've already given Fiona my whole life—that should be enough."
Tears burned down my face as the truth hit me like a knife. Our marriage wasn't love—it was guilt. A twisted repayment for stealing my mother's life to save the woman he loved.
I stood frozen outside the study as his best friend, Henry Nelson, argued with him.
"You're risking prison for a woman who doesn't love you back," Henry snapped. "Was it worth it?"
Matt exhaled, cigarette smoke curling around him. "It's done. As long as Taylor's happy now, nothing else matters."
"And Fiona?" Henry pressed. "She loves you. What happens when she realizes you killed her mother?"
A beat of silence. Then Matt's bitter laugh. "Then I'll pay with my life. The money I've made will keep her comfortable forever."
Footsteps neared. I scrambled back, hot tea spilling over my hands—but I felt nothing. No burn, no pain. Just numbness.
Because my mother hadn't died on that operating table. She'd been murdered.
And Matt's proposal? His marriage to me? Just another knife in the back.
The door clicked shut as Henry left. Moments later, Matt stumbled in, drunk, cupping my face with false tenderness.
"Why are you by the door?" he murmured, lips brushing my forehead.
"Nothing," I lied. "Just spilled my tea."
"Let the housekeeper clean it," he said, kissing me again—soft, familiar, a lie I'd believed for years.
But now I knew the truth.
This was all a sick joke.
And I was done playing along.
In that moment of utter despair, my childhood friend Matt Harris dropped to one knee in the hospital and proposed. He handed me a dowry of $150,000 without hesitation. I said yes immediately, and my mother's surgery was arranged.
But she never made it off the operating table.
Grief swallowed me whole, and Matt stepped in, handling her funeral when I couldn't. We still went through with the wedding—because what else was I supposed to do?
Five years later, I overheard a conversation that shattered everything.
"Matt," the doctor said, voice low. "You never told Fiona Kingsley the truth—that you used her mother's organ to save Debbie Marshall, Taylor's aunt. What if she finds out? Are you really willing to risk it all for Taylor?"
Matt's reply was ice in my veins: "If she does, then so be it. I'd do anything for Taylor. One life in exchange for another. I've already given Fiona my whole life—that should be enough."
Tears burned down my face as the truth hit me like a knife. Our marriage wasn't love—it was guilt. A twisted repayment for stealing my mother's life to save the woman he loved.
I stood frozen outside the study as his best friend, Henry Nelson, argued with him.
"You're risking prison for a woman who doesn't love you back," Henry snapped. "Was it worth it?"
Matt exhaled, cigarette smoke curling around him. "It's done. As long as Taylor's happy now, nothing else matters."
"And Fiona?" Henry pressed. "She loves you. What happens when she realizes you killed her mother?"
A beat of silence. Then Matt's bitter laugh. "Then I'll pay with my life. The money I've made will keep her comfortable forever."
Footsteps neared. I scrambled back, hot tea spilling over my hands—but I felt nothing. No burn, no pain. Just numbness.
Because my mother hadn't died on that operating table. She'd been murdered.
And Matt's proposal? His marriage to me? Just another knife in the back.
The door clicked shut as Henry left. Moments later, Matt stumbled in, drunk, cupping my face with false tenderness.
"Why are you by the door?" he murmured, lips brushing my forehead.
"Nothing," I lied. "Just spilled my tea."
"Let the housekeeper clean it," he said, kissing me again—soft, familiar, a lie I'd believed for years.
But now I knew the truth.
This was all a sick joke.
And I was done playing along.
End of I Said 'I Do' to My Mother's Killer Chapter 1. Continue reading Chapter 2 or return to I Said 'I Do' to My Mother's Killer book page.