Tap-tap. Pause. Tap.

My heart raced as I realized she was communicating in Morse code. Leaning in closer, I held her hand tightly, reading the pattern she was tapping out, slow but unmistakable: “N-O-T A-N A-C-C-I-D-E-N-T.” The realization hit me with the force of a tidal wave. This was no accident.

The machines continued their indifferent hum, oblivious to the revelation that had just rocked my world. I searched Anna’s face for any sign of consciousness, but her eyelids remained closed, her message clear in its urgency. It was something we had all overlooked: she was telling me the truth.

I hesitated, knowing that if I shared this with the others they might dismiss it as the delusions of a grief-stricken mother-in-law, desperate for meaning in random motions. But I was certain of what I felt, of the message her trembling fingers communicated. Anna was warning us about something sinister.

“Anna, sweetheart, I’m listening. Tell me more,” I urged gently.

With painstaking effort, her fingers tapped again, each movement draining more of her strength. The message was fragmented but unmistakable: “B-R-A-K-E-S… C-U-T.”

My stomach twisted into knots. It meant someone had tampered with her car. The door creaked open, and Mark entered; his face a mixture of fatigue and resolve. His voice was low, “Mom, we need to make a decision.”

In that moment, the gravity of Anna’s message settled in my bones. Mark didn’t know what I had just discovered. If Anna was right about this being no accident, then her so-called accident was just the beginning of a much darker mystery that needed unraveling.

I looked at Mark, my pulse racing, knowing that the truth, as dark and tangled as it seemed, had to be unveiled. Anna’s life—and perhaps others—depended on it.