Eat this special cupcake, it’s to calm your pregnancy nerves” — The woman poisoned with arsenic at her own baby shower by her husband and his assistant.

I drifted into the void, my heart stopping on the stretcher. But as the darkness claimed me, a machine beeped a flatline, and a doctor miles away stared at a computer screen, his face turning pale as he realized the dying woman in the ER wasn’t just a patient—she was the ghost of a daughter he had lost thirty years ago.
You think the perfect crime exists, Marcos.