At 6:30 on a freezing Thursday morning, my sister called to tell me our father had passed away. There was only one problem. Dad was sitting three feet away from me at my kitchen table, wearing a navy flannel robe, sipping fresh coffee, and stealing bacon from my plate like he had been doing every morning for the past two days.

I read the terrifying text message out loud to my father.

Samuel Mercer was the only person who knew Dad was actually alive.

Samuel had agreed to forge a death certificate to buy my father enough time to escape the cartel.

"If the cartel opens that empty casket, they are going to kill Samuel," Dad said with wide eyes.

I pressed my foot harder on the accelerator.

We were driving back to our hometown, straight into the mouth of the beast.

The abandoned highway stretched out before us like a gray ribbon.

It took us three agonizing hours to reach the familiar town limits.

I parked the rusted truck in a dense patch of trees behind the old funeral home.

The sky was completely overcast, matching the grim reality of our situation.

We crept silently toward the back loading doors of the mortuary.

The heavy steel door was slightly ajar.

Dad pushed it open, and we stepped into the freezing, sterile embalming room.

The pungent smell of formaldehyde burned my nostrils.

"Samuel?" Dad whispered into the darkness.

There was no answer.

The room was completely silent, except for the dripping of a leaky faucet.

We walked cautiously into the main viewing parlor.

A beautiful mahogany casket sat in the center of the room, surrounded by expensive floral arrangements.

I noticed a dark puddle of crimson blood seeping into the expensive carpet near the casket.

My stomach churned with pure dread.

Dad walked slowly toward the casket and peered inside.

He gasped loudly and stumbled backward in absolute horror.

I rushed to his side and looked down into the silk-lined box.

Samuel Mercer was not hiding from the cartel.

Samuel Mercer was lying dead inside the casket.

He had a single, brutal gunshot wound directly in the center of his forehead.

Before I could even scream, the heavy wooden doors of the parlor violently slammed shut.

When my newborn 'passed away,' my mother-in-law leaned in and said

My Husband Left Me Alone in My Car While I Was in Labor

“You’re Dead When We Get Home,” He Snapped

A tall man in a tailored gray suit stepped out of the shadows holding a smoking gun.

"He refused to tell us where you went, Richard," the cartel assassin smiled cruelly.

Chapter 3 - The Mortician's Secret