That day, the sky seemed intent on drowning the world. Rain hammered the roof, the electricity had gone out, and the tiled floor was slick like soap. I was walking back from the warehouse, heading toward the main door, when my foot suddenly shot out from under me on the steps.

I didn’t even have time to scream.

The neighbor heard the heavy thud and rushed forward. My mouth opened, but no sound came. According to the doctor, the impact split my skull. He said I died instantly.

No one questioned anything. No one found the situation suspicious. Life around me moved on, while I drifted like a shadow for five long years, clinging to only one thing: a pot of purple orchids—his wedding gift to me. The plant wasn’t special, but to me, it carried the last warmth he had ever given. I never imagined that this unassuming flowerpot would unravel a truth darker than any nightmare.

1. Five years later — a shattered pot exposes everything
Late one bright afternoon, the neighbor’s cat darted onto my balcony, chasing my dog. In the chaos, the wooden shelf shook and I heard a sharp crash.

My heart lurched painfully.

The orchid pot—the last trace of him—lay in pieces on the floor. I knelt down, hands trembling, trying to gather the shards. That’s when I saw it: a tiny cloth bundle, buried in the spilled soil.

I froze.

This was his gift. But I had never seen anything hidden inside it.

The cloth was old, frayed, tied with black thread. My fingers shook as I loosened the knot.

Inside was a scratched silver USB and a small piece of paper with writing so shaky it nearly tore my heart apart.

“Thu… if you’re seeing this, it means I didn’t make it. Take this to the police. Don’t trust anyone. Don’t let them near you.”

My breath stopped.