The night was quiet except for the faint hum of cars along I-95 in Connecticut. Claire Dawson sat alone in her living room, clutching a lukewarm cup of tea.
Her husband, Michael, had promised to be home by seven after a late meeting. By midnight, she had called his phone ten times—no answer. By 2 a.m., her phone finally rang.
It wasn’t Michael. It was the state police.
“Mrs. Dawson,” the officer said, voice heavy and practiced, “we regret to inform you your husband’s car was found wrecked near the riverbank. No body was recovered, but the damage suggests… he likely didn’t survive.”
