Standing on his doorstep, a sudden and severe wave of unease coils through Andrew's insides. It aggressively lurches upward, effectively obscuring his airway as it expands until his breathing wavers significantly. Although entirely unsure of the unexpected crashing fear that overtakes him, Andrew shakily opens the front door to his home. He remains on edge as the dread rapidly envelops him.
Something is definitely wrong.
Andrew wearily steps into his home, abandoning his briefcase beside the door. Gideon's piercing wails can be heard from the entryway, and a confused yet terrifying type of curiosity sidles into Andrew's consciousness. With a cautious err to his step, he allows his wracked nerves to guide him further into the home in search of his son.
When the cries don't diminish even remotely, Andrew's legs move faster, hurriedly propelling him up the stairs and down the hallway until he's standing outside Gideon's nursery. A trembling hand cautiously reaches for the doorknob before swinging the door open to reveal the crying baby, secured safely in the confines of his crib. Panic settles deeper in Andrew's stomach, shredding his organs as it tears through him violently. Scooping the baby carefully into his arms, he proceeds to soothe Gideon, rocking him until peacefulness takes over.
His heart still racing, Andrew returns his child to the crib, hoping that he will remain asleep until he's figured out what's going on. Silently, and as if in slow motion, Andrew creeps toward the nursery door. He counts his breaths to try to keep calm as he ventures to find Cora.
Where is she?
Even in her depressed state, it isn't like her to neglect Gideon this way; something must be terribly wrong.
The rushing sound of blood in his veins thrums in Andrew's ears, keeping time with the erratic beating of his heart. That, combined with the suspicious and ghostly silence filling the home, is almost deafening. Unsure where to look for Cora first, his feet direct him to continue his search in the bedroom they share. The bedroom door is left ajar, a sliver of light filtering into the hallway from the room. Andrew's heart pounds more violently in his chest as he carefully inches toward the cracked door. With an unstoppable quake in his hand, he slowly reaches his hand to the wooden structure, his fingertips giving it a light push. The door creaks open agonizingly, and Andrew's breath hitches; the unexpected scene laid out before him when he enters has his throat constricting, the weight of the world resting heavily upon his chest.
Lying unmoving in a pool of blood is Cora's lifeless body.
Deep, gasping sobs get stuck in Andrew's throat, choking him as he realizes his beloved wife is gone. Cora lies in the center of the room, her forearms slit from her wrists to her elbows. A bloodied knife lays beside her, its silver blade swallowed by the crimson liquid.
Maybe he could have saved her if he'd stayed home today.
Crumbling to the floor, he curls into a ball, allowing his body the chance to discharge whatever is caught up within him. After several moments of lying in the fetal position and hysterically crying, Andrew raises his head, seeking some sort of sign; there must be something that can reveal why Cora ended up like this. His eyes roam over the room before coming to rest on a scattered array of papers lying just outside the bloody puddle.
Curious and in desperate need of explanations, Andrew crawls closer. His legs are numb beneath him, barely able to support his weight as he moves across the floor to retrieve the clues. When his gaze falls upon the photos in his hand, Andrew's final thread of sanity snaps, and his heart shatters into millions of tiny, jagged pieces. He grasps the pictures tightly, creasing and crumpling them under his harsh grip. After a few seconds, his grasp loosens, releasing the damning images to flutter to the carpeted floor. Surrounded by his many indiscretions, Andrew falls apart once more.
Scandalous pictures of intimate moments shared with Maria, security camera freeze frames of the gruesome murder of Hector Ortiz, a photocopy of Gideon's prenatal paternity test, and photos of Maria's baby being removed from her womb litter the carpet.
Cora knew everything he'd done, all the terrible things he'd been capable of. She learned of the demons that dwell within him and ended her own life because of them.
The irony that the ultimate demise of his picture-perfect charade was none other than pictures of his far-from-perfect actions and unforgivable exploits is not lost on him; whoever provided the photos to Cora obviously knew what they were doing.
Andrew gives way to the sobs, the wails, to the tears, and the hurt. He surrenders to the self-loathing, letting it devour him whole. His body trembles as his grief overtakes him; his compressed lungs beg for oxygen, greedily attempting to consume all the air in the room. The most excruciating pain he could possibly imagine courses through him, igniting every nerve and cell in his body.
It's his fault Cora's dead.
He killed her.