Texas: She Left Prison With One Goal – De*dly Revenge On Ex & His New Wife…

On October 27th, a two-story house on Maplewood Street in Houston became the scene of a double murder. Rodney Simpson, 37, and his wife Christina, 29, lay in pools of blood in the living room. Both had suffered multiple stab wounds. The killer disappeared without leaving any obvious clues. A third life was lost that same day, an unborn child.

But it all began 7 years ago at a car repair shop on South Street where Valyria Weber had come to have her broken Honda repaired. It was a hot August. The air conditioning in her car had broken down and she was desperately short of money for repairs. She was 24. She worked as a cashier in a supermarket, rented a small room from an elderly Mexican woman, and dreamed of having a real family.

 The workshop was located in an old hanger that smelled of machine oil and welding. Behind the counter sat the owner, Charlie Davis, an elderly black man with gray hair. “What happened to the beauty?” asked a voice from under the hood. Valyria looked at the mechanic who was climbing out from under the car, wiping his hands with an oily rag.

 He was tall, broad-shouldered, with an open smile and confident movements. A badge with the name Rodney was sewn onto his work shirt. “I backed into a pole in the parking lot,” she admitted, feeling her cheeks flush. “Like a complete idiot.” “It happens to everyone,” Rodney said, [music] carefully examining the damage. The main thing is that you’re okay.

 The bumper will have to be replaced, the fender repaired, and a new headlight is needed. It will cost about $300. Valyria opened her wallet and counted the crumpled bills. $120, her entire salary, after deducting rent and food for the week. Can’t you find something cheaper? To be honest, I’m not exactly rich.

 We always find a way out of a tight spot for pretty girls. Rodney winked. I’ll get the parts from a junkyard and we’ll do the work in installments. Half now, half in a month. How does that sound? They sealed the deal with a handshake. Rodney’s strong, calloused fingers lingered on her palm a little longer than necessary. Valyria felt a slight dizziness and realized that she liked this man.

 For the next two weeks, she came to the workshop every 3 days, ostensibly to check on the progress of the repairs. Each time, Rodney found new reasons to extend the work for another couple of days. Either the spare part didn’t fit or the paint wasn’t the right shade or they had to wait for good weather to paint.

 “Listen, Valyria,” he finally said when she showed up at the workshop again. “Let’s be honest. The car has been ready for a week, but I don’t want you to disappear from my life. How about we go out to dinner somewhere? Their first date was at Elsombrero, a Mexican cafe where the portions were huge, the prices were ridiculous, and mariachi played for tips on Fridays.

 Rodney talked about his plans to open his own workshop when he had saved up enough money and found a good location. Valyria dreamed aloud of a house with a garden where she could grow tomatoes and roses and of children playing on the lawn. “I have some savings,” Rodney [music] said, dipping a corn tortilla in hot sauce.

 “I’ll work for Uncle Charlie for another year or two, save up for equipment and rent a space, and you could do the bookkeeping and answer the phones.” “I’m afraid I’m not very good with numbers,” Valyria admitted sheepishly. “You’ll learn as you go. We’re a team now, right? The romance developed rapidly.

 Rodney showed up at her house every evening after work with bouquets of roses from the nearest supermarket, took her to the movies for cheap matineese and to small cafes. He talked about his plans so convincingly that Valyria could see their future in the smallest details. 6 months after they met, during the February thaw, Rodney proposed right in the workshop, kneeling between car tires and oil cans.

 The ring was inexpensive, but chosen with love, and his speech was sincere and touching. Valyria Weber, will you marry me? I can’t offer you wealth, but I promise to love and cherish you for the rest of my days. The wedding took place in the spring at the city hall in the presence of their closest friends and family. The witnesses were Rodney’s mother, Gloria, a plump, good-natured woman who worked as a cleaner in an office center, and Valyriia’s best Valyria’s best friend, Cheryl, from the supermarket.

 After the ceremony, the small group celebrated the event at the same El Sombrero restaurant where the newlyweds had their first date. The newlyweds rented a two- room apartment on Oakland Street in a workingclass neighborhood where half of the houses were in need of repair and it was unsafe to walk alone on the streets at night.

 They bought furniture at a discount store on a 2-year installment plan, a sofa with sagging cushions, a dining table with wobbly legs, a TV that only showed half the channels. The first years of marriage were spent in a constant struggle with poverty, but the young couple was happy. Rodney worked in Uncle Charlie’s workshop from 7:00 in the morning until 7:00 in the evening, earning $800 a month and dreaming of starting his own business.

 Valyria stood at the checkout in a supermarket 10 hours a day for $1,100, smiling at customers and making plans for the future. Together, their income was barely enough to cover rent, utilities, furniture, and car payments, groceries, and the bare necessities. But in the evenings, they would sit in [music] the kitchen, drink cheap beer, and make plans.

 “Once I save up another 5,000, Uncle Charlie is ready to sell me half of his equipment,” Rodney said, counting the crumpled bills in the tin can where they kept their savings. “I’ll find a place to rent, hang up a sign that says Simpson Auto Service, and start working for myself.” “When are we going to have children?” Valyria asked, smiling dreamily.

 I’m already 27 and doctors say that pregnancy [music] is more difficult after 30. Let’s get on our feet first, then we’ll think about children,” her husband replied, putting his arm around her shoulders. “There’s no point in bringing more poverty into the world. Children need to be provided with a normal future.

 The plan seemed realistic and achievable, but life had other ideas.” After 3 years of working together, old Charlie couldn’t compete with the large auto repair shops that offered customers modern diagnostic equipment and guaranteed for their work. The small workshop closed and Rodney was left without a job.

 Their modest savings melted away in 2 months to pay off debts and cover current expenses. Rodney knocked on the doors of other workshops every day, but everywhere he went, they required experience with computer diagnostics, which he did not have. Temporary jobs, unloading trucks at warehouses, washing cars at car washes, painting fences, brought in pennies, and did not solve his financial problems.

Gradually, Rodney became glooier and more withdrawn. He started drinking in the evenings, spent his days in front of the TV, and occasionally left the house to look for work. His failures undermined his self-confidence, and with each passing month, he responded less and less to job offers. “Maybe we should try our luck in Dallas or Austin,” Valyria suggested over a dinner of cheap macaroni and ketchup.

 “The job market is bigger there, and the competition isn’t as fierce. How are we going to move there?” Rodney replied irritably. And who will hire me there without connections and recommendations? The debts were growing like a snowball. The bank threatened to take away the car for late payments. The landlord threatened to evict them.

 And the utility companies threatened to with cutting off the gas and electricity. Valyriia was the sole bread winner for the family. But her salary as a cashier didn’t even cover half of their necessary expenses. There were always shady characters hanging around the supermarket among the regular customers, offering employees additional ways to make money.

 Most cashiers and salespeople dismissed such offers, but some, driven to desperation by poverty, agreed to risky schemes. Marky Williams was one such entrepreneur. A young man of about 25, always dressed in an expensive leather jacket and gold jewelry, he traded in counterfeit credit cards. He had been watching Valyria for a long time, studying her financial situation and waiting for the right moment.

 The right moment came in December when the store manager announced a 20% pay cut for all employees due to falling sales. Valyria left work in a depressed mood, imagining how she would explain to her husband that the family budget had become even smaller. “Hey, beautiful.” Marquy called out to her at the service exit. You look upset.

Money problems? None of your business. Valyriia dismissed him. That’s a shame. I could help you. There’s a way to earn an extra hundred a day without much effort. What 100? Valyriia asked wearily. It’s a simple scheme. You punch my cards, my people take the goods, and we split the profits evenly. The banks don’t notice the forgeries for months, and when they do, [music] the trail leads to non-existent people with fake documents.

 I don’t want your dirty money. Think about it carefully. The offer won’t last forever, and there are plenty of people who want it. At home, Valyria was greeted by a drunk Rodney and an electricity bill with a red stamp and a threat of disconnection in 3 days. The refrigerator was empty. There was no money left until the next paycheck, and dinner would consist of bread and margarine.

Valyria went to bed hungry and thought about the Maris’s offer all night. The next day, when the gas bill arrived with a similar threat, she agreed. The scheme was really simple. Marquee came to the store with fake customers, ordinary people whom he paid to participate in the operation.

 They filled their carts with expensive goods and approached Valyria’s checkout with fake credit cards. Valyriia rang up the purchases as usual without asking unnecessary questions or checking the customers documents. For each transaction, she received between $50 and $100 in cash [music] depending on the purchase amount.

 The marquee was generous and careful. He never delayed payments and did not draw too much attention to one cashier. For the first few weeks, Valyria lived in constant fear of being exposed, flinching every time she saw people in suits in the store, afraid of surveillance cameras and suspicious glances from her colleagues. But gradually, her fear dulled and the advantages of the extra income became obvious. Money flowed in like a river.

Debts began to rapidly decrease. Normal food appeared in the refrigerator and Valyria was able to buy herself new clothes for the first time in 2 years. Rodney found a job as a loader in an auto parts warehouse and cheered up noticeably when he saw that family life was improving. See, I told you that the bad streak would end sooner or later.

 He rejoiced over a dinner of real meat and vegetables. Everything worked out on its own. I got a job. you got a raise. Valyria nodded and didn’t tell her husband where the extra money was actually coming from. She bought groceries at other stores so as not to arouse suspicion and explained the increase in the family budget as bonuses for exceeding sales targets.

 Rodney didn’t ask any unnecessary questions. He was completely satisfied that the financial problems had resolved themselves. In December 2021, the bank’s security service noticed unusual activity involving counterfeit cards at one particular supermarket. Analysts identified a pattern. Most of the fraudulent transactions were made at checkout number seven where Valyriia Weber worked.

 She was caught red-handed at her workplace during the evening shift when she was ringing up another batch of expensive goods for another group of Marquis front buyers. Detective Lance Reed entered the store with two colleagues and waited for the transaction to be completed. “Valyria Weber, you are under arrest on suspicion of organized bank card fraud,” he announced, pulling out his handcuffs.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court.” The metal bracelets clicked shut on her wrists in front of her co-workers, shoppers, and the store manager, who shouted that he had always considered Valerie an honest employee. The trial took place after 4 months of pre-trial detention, and was [music] swift.

Prosecutor Daniel Richards presented irrefutable evidence of guilt, surveillance camera footage, witness testimony, [music] the results of an examination of the counterfeit cards, and bank documents detailing the losses. The total amount of the fraud was $120,000. The courtappointed lawyer, Michael Thompson, a young law school graduate, tried to portray the defendant as a victim of circumstances, a woman driven to crime by extreme poverty.

 But the facts spoke against Valyria. Judge Raymond Harris, an elderly man with 30 years of experience in criminal court, listened to all the testimony and handed down his sentence without hesitation. Considering the amount of damage, the organized nature of the crime, and the absence of mitigating circumstances, the court sentences the defendant, Valerie Weber, to 2 years imprisonment to be served in a maximum security prison.

Rodney sat in the front row of the courtroom and wept uncontrollably, wiping his tears with the sleeve of his worn shirt. After the sentence was handed down, he approached the guards and asked for permission to say goodbye to his wife before she was taken away. “I’ll wait for you, baby,” he whispered, kissing her through the bars of the prison bus.

 “I’ll write every day and come to all your visits. We’ll get through this. Two years will fly by. You’ll see.” Women’s Correctional Facility number 7 was located an hour and a half’s drive from Houston in an industrial area near a chemical plant. The territory was surrounded by a high fence with three rows of barbed wire and guard towers with powerful search lights were located around the perimeter, flooding the courtyard with cold white light all night long.

 Valyria was assigned to block number three, where fraudsters, embezzlers, and counterfeits served their sentences. The cells were designed for one person, but due to the constant overcrowding of the system, two prisoners were placed in each cell. Valyria’s cellmate was Patricia Green, a 40-year-old drug addict with a long history who was serving her third sentence for dealing heroin.

 The thin woman with prematurely gray hair and deep wrinkles on her face looked much older than her years. She coughed constantly, complained of weakness and headaches, and often woke up at night in a cold sweat. “Don’t be afraid, newbie,” Patricia said on the first night when Valyria was lying on a hard cot and couldn’t sleep.

 “Everything is fine here if you know the local rules. The main thing is not to get involved in other people’s business, be friends with everyone, and don’t stand out.” Upon admission, all newcomers underwent a mandatory medical examination. Dr. Ronald Kings, an elderly man with a gray beard and tired eyes, had been working in prison medicine for 20 years.

He examined Valyria in his cramped office where yellowed posters about the dangers of drugs and alcohol hung on the walls. Alcohol. We’ll have the results in a week, he said, filling out the medical card. So far, you look perfectly healthy. The test results arrived right on time. HIV, hepatitis B, and C, syphilis.

 All the tests came back negative. Dr. Kings noted Valyria’s satisfactory overall health in her medical record and scheduled preventive checkups every 6 months in accordance with prison regulations. Valyria was assigned to work in the prison library under the supervision of Miss Carter, a kind woman who had devoted her entire adult life to the education and rehabilitation of prisoners.

 The work did not require much physical effort and provided a small but steady income. On Saturdays and Sundays, the colony held visits with relatives. For the first 6 months of his imprisonment, Rodney came every weekend without fail. He brought home-cooked food in permitted plastic containers and recounted news from the outside world in detail, trying to fill the entire hour allotted for conversation.

 “I miss you so much, baby,” he would say, holding her hands in his. “I’m counting the days until your release. I’m already making plans for what we’ll do when you get out. We’ll move to another state where no one knows about our problems, find good jobs, and start life with a completely clean slate. But gradually, the visits became less and less frequent.

 At first, Rodney began coming every 2 weeks, citing extreme busyness at work. Then the visits became monthly. Her husband’s old car broke down, and he didn’t have enough money for repairs. Letters from her husband also became less frequent and shorter. In the first months of her imprisonment, Valyria received two or three detailed letters a week.

 But by the end of the first year, correspondence had been reduced to one formal letter a month. That’s how men are, Patricia remarked philosophically. As long as you’re around, [music] they swear their loyalty, but as soon as you’re behind bars, they immediately forget the way. In the winter of her second year of imprisonment, Patricia Green’s health deteriorated sharply.

 She almost completely stopped eating, began coughing up blood at night, and was covered with strange purple spots of unknown origin. Her body temperature remained high for weeks. Dr. Kings transferred Patricia to the hospital ward, but her condition continued to deteriorate. In early March, Patricia Green died in her sleep from cardiac arrest. Dr.

 Kings listed the official cause of death as acute pneumonia complicated by cardiovascular failure. However, rumors immediately spread among the prisoners that their cellmate had died of terminal AIDS. The prison administration did not want to risk the institution’s reputation and possible scandals in the local press. The prison warden, Colonel James Stewart, decided to conduct an unscheduled medical examination of all inmates in block 3, where the late Patricia had lived. Dr.

Kings personally took blood samples from 23 women, including Valyria, and sent all the samples to the city hospital laboratory with a note about the urgency and importance of the research. The test results took 2 weeks to come back. Valyria continued to work in the library, read books, and correspond with her husband, unaware of the impending personal disaster.

 She felt completely normal and had no alarming symptoms. On March 22nd, Dr. Kings called Valyria to his office in the afternoon. The elderly doctor sat at his worn wooden desk, slowly leafing through some medical documents, looking even more tired and depressed than [music] usual. In front of him lay a neat stack of Valyria’s medical records and several sheets of paper with the city hospital’s laboratory stamps, the results of recent blood tests.

 The doctor was silent for a long time, taking off and putting on his glasses, clearly delaying the unpleasant conversation. Valyria sat down on a hard metal chair opposite the doctor’s desk, and waited patiently. The office was silent, broken only by the ticking of an old wall clock and the distant sounds of prison life outside the window.

 Finally, Dr. Kings put the documents aside, took off his glasses, and looked at the prisoner with the serious, almost mournful gaze of a man who was about to deliver terrible news. “Valyria, I need to inform you of the results of the repeat blood test for HIV infection.” He began slowly and cautiously. Unfortunately, the result was positive.

The words seemed to hang in the air. Valyria continued to sit motionless in her chair, staring straight at the doctor and trying to comprehend what she had heard. HIV, AIDS, a deadly disease. These words spun around in her head, but did not form a coherent logical picture. That’s impossible, she whispered, feeling her mouth go dry.

 When I came here, all my tests were completely normal. I don’t use drugs. I don’t cheat on my husband. Where could I have gotten the infection? I personally and very carefully double-cheed the results in two independent laboratories, replied Dr. Kings, speaking softly and sympathetically. Unfortunately, there is no medical error here.

 HIV infection has a so-called serone negative period or window period when the virus is already present in the body and actively multiplying but specific antibodies to it have not yet been produced in sufficient quantities. The doctor patiently explained the medical intricacies of diagnosis saying that the incubation period can vary from several weeks to several months.

 Judging by the test results, the infection occurred shortly before his arrest and admission to the colony. But the most important thing you need to understand, the doctor continued, is that modern medicine allows people with HIV to live full lives for many decades. It is no longer an automatic death sentence. There are highly effective anti-retroviral drugs that suppress the replication of the virus in the body.

But Valyria listened to the doctor’s explanations and thought only about one question. How did the deadly virus get into her blood? The only possible source of infection could have been Rodney. This meant that he had known about his illness for a long time, deliberately hid the deadly diagnosis from his wife, and infected her during intimacy.

Returning to the cell that had been emptied after Patricia’s death, Valyria lay down on her hard bunk facing the gray concrete wall and began to recall the events of the last few months before her arrest. Now, many of the strange behaviors of her beloved husband took on a sinister and repulsive meaning.

 Rodney did indeed often stay late after the official end of the workday, citing the need to complete overtime assignments. On weekends, he regularly went to his friend Marcus’ house, supposedly to play poker with friends, but he only returned home in the early morning. Sometimes, her husband gave off a faint but distinct scent of unfamiliar women’s perfume.

 Now, she understood that her husband was not spending his free time with friends at the card table, but with prostitutes in cheap motel on the industrial outskirts of the city. He contracted HIV from one of the prostitutes and then passed the deadly virus on to his unsuspecting wife. And when Valyriia was sent to prison on charges of fraud, Rodney saw it as a gift from fate and an opportunity to get rid of his infected wife painlessly.

 The following months of imprisonment turned into slow and painful torture for Valyria. She was immediately transferred to a strict solitary confinement cell to prevent possible conflicts with other inmates, many of whom were terrified of any contact with HIV infected people. Dr. Kings prescribed her a complex anti-retroviral therapy, a daily combination of three different drugs that had to be taken strictly on schedule at regular intervals.

 The drugs had severe side effects which sometimes seemed worse than the disease itself. Valyria felt nauseous all the time, especially in the mornings, and felt dizzy when she moved suddenly. All her joints and muscles achd. She rapidly lost 15 kg. Her hair became dull and began to fall out in clumps, and her skin took on an unhealthy grayish yellow tint.

 Working in the library became physically difficult due to her constant weakness. Kind Miss Carter showed human understanding and allowed her to cut her working day in half. But even the lighter schedule was very difficult. Valyria sat at her desk for hours mechanically flipping through the pages of book cataloges, [music] thinking that her life was essentially over.

 Rodney completely cut off all contact with his wife. He no longer came to visit her, did not respond to her letters, and did not transfer money to her prison account. Their last meeting was in January when her husband looked extremely anxious and nervous, constantly glancing at his watch and rushing to end the unpleasant conversation. “How are things on the outside?” Valyria asked, unaware that she was seeing her husband for the last time.

 “Everything’s fine. I’m working, living,” he replied, avoiding her gaze. “My mother is ill. I spend a lot of time caring for her.” A week before the scheduled release date, Valyria received an official court notice of divorce. Rodney filed for divorce in the district court, citing his wife’s prolonged absence for no good reason, her commission of serious crimes, and the complete impossibility of continuing the family relationship.

 The court granted the plaintiff’s claims without the defendant’s participation, recognizing the marriage as officially dissolved. The court awarded the plaintiff the jointly acquired property, including the apartment on Oakland Street, as compensation for the moral damage caused by the criminal actions of his former wife.

 On September 15th, 2023, Valyriia Weber was released from prison completely [music] alone. No one came to pick her up. There was no one to meet her. She left the prison grounds with a plastic bag of personal belongings and $300, which she had managed to save up during two years of working in the library. She spent her first week of freedom in a cheap hotel on the outskirts of town, where for $20 a night, she could get a tiny room with a leaky shower and a TV showing only three channels.

Her search for work was unsuccessful. Employers shunned her criminal record like the plague, and her HIV diagnosis made finding a job virtually impossible. When her money was almost gone, Valyria had to turn to the charity Second Chance, [music] which specialized in helping exconvicts reintegrate into society.

Social worker Jessica Brown, an energetic middle-aged woman, found her a place in a hostel for women in difficult life situations. You definitely need to apply for disability benefits based on your HIV status, Jessica advised her while filling out the paperwork. This will entitle you to government assistance and completely free medication through a special program.

 Life will be difficult, but it is possible. Having received at least minimal social support and somehow settled into the hostel, Valyria set out to find her ex-husband to learn the whole truth about what had happened and demand an explanation. The house on Oakland Street, where they had once been happy, had been sold to new owners.

 The auto parts warehouse where Rodney had worked during the last months of their marriage had closed after the company went bankrupt. The search took more than 2 weeks and seemed hopeless until a chance encounter provided the necessary information. Valyria happened to meet Doris Hughes, their former neighbor on Oakland Street at the supermarket, who remembered the young couple very well.

 Rodney, of course, I remember. Doris was delighted to see her. He now lives on Maplewood Street in the suburbs in a big, beautiful house. He married a young woman. I think her name is Christina. She works at a bank and makes good money. They bought a great house and a new car. His wife is pregnant now and they’re expecting a boy in the spring.

Valyria found the exact address in the phone book and the next day went to see the new life of her traitor husband. The two-story house with neat white walls and a well-kept green lawn looked like a picture from a magazine about country life. A brand new silver Toyota stood on the paved driveway without a single scratch.

Valyria spent three days in a row near the house, hiding behind the corner of the neighbor’s fence, carefully studying the daily routine of its inhabitants. Rodney left for work every morning at exactly 8:00, and returned home at 7:00 in the evening. Christina worked at a bank on a flexible schedule, sometimes leaving early in the morning, sometimes only at lunchtime.

 On Saturdays, the couple went shopping together at a large shopping center. And on Sundays, they visited the young wife’s parents in a neighboring district. It was a picture of the ideal family happiness that Valyriia had once dreamed of and never been able to achieve. Watching her ex-husband from a distance, Valyriia noticed with satisfaction that he had changed a lot during their years of separation.

 Rodney had lost a lot of weight, looked painfully tired, and often stopped in the yard to catch his breath after a little physical exertion. Sometimes he was tormented by a dry cough, which he tried to hide from his wife. Young pregnant Christina clearly knew nothing about her husband’s terminal illness. She lovingly supported him by the arm when he felt weak, brought him medicine, which he explained away as a cold or overwork at the office.

 The naive girl had no idea that she was living with an HIV infected man and was already infected herself. “Bastard,” Valyria whispered, looking through a small pair of binoculars she had bought at a sporting goods store. He infected her and doomed the child to death, just like he did to me. On October 26th, after several days of reflection and planning, Valyria went to a hardware store on the other side of town.

 She spent a long time carefully selecting a kitchen knife with a long, sharp blade, checking the quality of the steel and the comfort of the plastic handle. The salesman, Steven Marsh, later told detectives that the customer seemed very calm and business-like. The next day, at exactly 6:00 p.m., when both spouses had already returned home from work, Valyria approached the front door of the house on Maplewood Street and pressed the doorbell decisively.

 A few seconds later, the door opened and Christina, a young, pretty woman with a noticeably rounded belly and trusting open eyes, appeared. “Good evening,” Valyria said politely. “I am Rodney Simpsons ex-wife. I urgently need to speak with him about an important matter.” Christina was momentarily taken aback to hear about the existence of a first wife whom her husband had preferred not to mention.

 But her upbringing took over and she politely invited the stranger into the house. Rodney, she called toward the stairs. There’s a woman here to see you. She says she’s your ex-wife. Rodney slowly descended the stairs, saw Valyria standing in the hallway, and was literally stunned by the surprise. Three years of prison and illness had changed both of them beyond recognition.

But his condition was particularly dire. His sunken yellowish face, deeply hollow cheeks, and the unhealthy gleam of his feverish eyes. HIV was slowly but surely destroying his body. “What? What do you want?” he asked in a horse voice, trying to hide his mortal fear. “To talk to you alone about your farewell gift?” Valyria replied, keeping her eyes fixed on him.

Rodney understood what she was talking about and asked his wife to go upstairs, explaining that they needed to discuss some old personal issues. Trusting Christina obediently went up to the second floor. Left alone in the living room, Valyria took the knife she had bought the day before out of her purse. “Did you know you were sick when you infected me?” she asked, looking him straight in the eye.

No, I didn’t know anything. I only found out about the diagnosis after your arrest. Rodney tried to justify himself. You’re lying through your teeth. And now you’ve infected her, too. You’ve condemned our future child to suffering. Rodney tried to explain something about contraception, the accidental infection of his wife, [music] his ignorance of his own illness at the time of their life together.

 But Valyria was no longer listening to his false excuses. Years of pain, humiliation, and shattered hopes demanded justice. What happened next took only a few minutes. Hearing screams and sounds of a struggle upstairs, pregnant Christina ran downstairs and saw her husband bleeding on the light colored carpet in the living room. The woman with a knife in her hand turned to her with an expression of cold determination on her face.

 Please don’t touch me, Christina begged, instinctively covering her stomach with her hands. The baby is not to blame. He’s already dead, Valyria replied, and quickly disposed of the last witness. A dead silence fell over the beautiful house with white walls. Valyriia methodically wiped [music] the knife blade on an expensive curtain, hid the weapon in her purse, and calmly left the scene of the crime through the back exit into the yard.

 There was not a soul on the street. The neighbors were having dinner and watching evening television programs. The quiet woman in the gray coat disappeared into the October twilight, leaving behind two cooling bodies and blood on the snow white carpet. Detective Gavish Shinpike arrived at the scene on Maplewood Street 12 minutes after the first call to the emergency response service.

 15 years of experience in the homicide division had taught him to read a crime scene like an open book, but domestic violence of this degree of brutality was rare. Two bodies lay in the spacious living room of a beautiful suburban home amid overturned furniture and shards of a crystal vase. Rodney Simpson, 37, was near a leather armchair by the fireplace.

 and Christina Simpson, 29, 7 months pregnant, was at the foot of a wooden staircase. Neighbor Mary Peterson, 62, who discovered the bodies, was sitting on the front porch in a state of deep shock. Patrol officers Carl Davis and Susan Wright, the first to arrive on the scene, cordined off the area with yellow tape and began preliminary questioning of nearby witnesses.

Gavish. It’s a bloody mess in here, said Sergeant Richard Black, meeting the detective at the front door. Double homicide by knife. No signs of forced entry. The killer either had keys or the victims let him involuntarily. Detective Shinepike put on blue latex gloves and began a methodical examination of the crime scene.

 Rodney Simpson was lying on his back next to an armchair, his white shirt completely soaked with blood. four deep stab wounds to the chest and upper abdomen. Christina Simpson was five meters away from her husband, facing the stairs, obviously trying to escape upstairs. Three wounds to the back between the shoulder blades, one to the base of the neck.

 Huge dark blood stains on the light beige carpet indicated rapid and massive blood loss. “Who discovered the bodies?” asked Shinnipike. “The neighbor, Peterson. She came to return a baking pan she borrowed from Christina last week. The door was a jar and the house was suspiciously quiet. Any witnesses? Only her so far.

 She says she saw an unfamiliar woman leaving through the backyard around 7 in the evening. The other neighbors were either busy or not home. The detective began with a detailed interrogation of Mary Peterson. The elderly woman had lived in the house across the street for 18 years and was aware of everything that happened in the quiet suburban neighborhood. “Mrs.

Peterson, please tell me in as much detail as possible everything you saw tonight,” Shpike asked, sitting down opposite her on the porch. “I was cooking dinner in the kitchen, and the window is right across from their house,” Peterson began in a trembling voice. “It was around 7:00, already getting dark, but I can see well with the street light on.

 I noticed a woman coming out of their backyard. I’ve never seen her before. Describe her appearance. About 35, maybe a little older. Dark hair, medium length, medium height, and build. She was wearing a gray or dark blue coat. I can’t say for sure in the evening light. She was walking slowly, very calmly, as if she were out for a stroll.

 What did you find strange? The fact that she left through the backyard and not through the front door. Rodney and Christina always saw guests to the front door. They are well-mannered people. But this woman walked through the garden as if she didn’t want to be seen from the street. How long did you watch her? 3 minutes no more.

 She crossed their property, went into the alley behind the houses, and disappeared around the corner. I thought maybe she was a relative of Christina’s that I didn’t know, but it still seemed suspicious. A team of experts led by senior criminal investigator Marcus Green, arrived 40 minutes later and began a comprehensive investigation of the crime scene.

 Green, a specialist with 20 years of experience, immediately focused on finding traces of the killer’s presence in the house. Clear fingerprints that don’t belong to the victims were found on the front door handle. Green reported to the detective after an hour of work. A fingerprint was also found on the inside of the door.

 Someone closed it from the inside when they left. The murder weapon not found yet. Based on the nature of the wounds, it was a kitchen knife with a straight blade about 20 cm long. The killer took it with him. Anything else? A small piece of gray fabric was found on the floor in the hallway, caught on the sharp corner of a metal umbrella stand.

 It may be from the killer’s clothing. I’m sending it for fiber analysis. Medical examiner Patricia Clark, who arrived to conduct the initial examination of the bodies, gave a preliminary conclusion about the cause of death and the time of the incident. The man suffered four stab wounds, two of which were definitely fatal, Clark explained, pointing to the location of the wounds on the diagram of the body.

One was in the heart area, penetrating between the ribs to a depth of 12 cm. The second was to the liver, penetrating 14 cm deep. Death occurred from blood loss within 3 to 5 minutes. and the woman. Four wounds to the back and neck. One hit the lung, two damaged large blood vessels, and the fourth severed the corateed artery.

 The last wound was inflicted when the victim was already lying on the floor. A control blow. Death was almost instantaneous. Can you determine the sequence of the attack? Based on the nature of the blood loss and the location of the bodies, the man in the living room was attacked first. The woman tried to run upstairs, but the killer caught up with her at the stairs.

The time of death for both victims was between 6:30 and 7:30 p.m. Shane Pike systematically interviewed the other neighbors. The Andersons, who lived in the house on the left, did not notice anything suspicious. They were watching television in the back room. James Roberts on the right worked in his office until 9:00 in the evening.

 The young Thompson family across the street was at home, but their windows faced the other direction. The next morning, the detective went to First National Bank where Christina Simpson worked. Robert Clark, the personal loan manager, an elegant 52-year-old man, met him in his spacious office.

 “Christina was the jewel of our department,” Clark said sadly. She worked as a loan consultant for 4 years and never had a single justified complaint from a customer. She was professional, punctual, and very popular among her colleagues. She was planning to go on maternity leave in January. Did she have any problems at work, conflicts with colleagues or customers? Absolutely [music] none.

 On the contrary, everyone loved her. The only thing that had been bothering Christina lately was her husband’s health. She asked for time off several times to take him to the doctor, but he flatly refused. Did she give any details? She said that Rodney had lost a lot of weight in recent months, was coughing constantly, and was getting tired quickly.

 Christina suspected something serious and and insisted on a checkup, but he claimed it was just a common cold. Christina’s colleague in the department, credit manager Linda Smith, confirmed these observations. Christina was really worried about her husband. Smith said in the bank’s breakroom last week. She even asked me for the number of a good therapist.

 She said that Rodney refused to see a doctor, but she could see that something was wrong with him. She was planning to force him to see a doctor. Did she mention any threats, strange phone calls? Never. Christina was a very open person. If there had been any problems, she would have shared them. They lived a quiet and peaceful life, preparing for the birth of their first child.

 Car Service Texas Motors, where Rodney Simpson worked, was located in an old industrial area among warehouses and small businesses. The owner, Thomas Gray, a tanned man with calloused hands, met the detective in his cluttered office. “Rodney was a good guy and an excellent mechanic,” Gray said, leafing through the work records.

 He came to us 18 months ago after divorcing his first wife. He worked honestly. The customers respected him and there were no complaints about the quality of his repairs. Did he talk about his first marriage? A little. He said his wife went to prison for some kind of financial fraud. He divorced her while she was in prison.

 He said he never wanted to have anything to do with crime again. And then he met Christina and it was like he was reborn. How did he seem lately? Not great, to be honest. He’d lost a lot of weight over the last 6 months. He was coughing constantly and often asked to go home early. The guys and I suggested he see a doctor, but he waved it off.

Lead mechanic Steve Parker, who worked the same shift as Rodney, added some important details. Rodney hadn’t been himself for the last few months, he said, wiping his hands with a rag. He used to be a cheerful, sociable guy, but then he became withdrawn and pensive. He coughed so badly that sometimes he couldn’t speak.

 But when we advised him to see a doctor, he got angry and changed the subject. Did he mention any problems at home? No problems. On the contrary, he loved his wife very much and talked about her all the time. He showed me the ultrasound of the baby and talked about his plans for the nursery. He even worked extra on the weekends to save money for a stroller and a crib.

Shane Pike requested documents from the district court regarding Rodney Simpson’s divorce from his first wife. Court clerk Elizabeth Walker, a neat middle-aged woman, provided the case files from a year ago. Rodney Simpson filed for divorce from Valyria Weber in March of last year, Walker explained, showing him the folder with the documents.

 The grounds were the defendant’s conviction for credit card fraud and the actual breakdown of the family. The defendant did not participate in the trial as she was serving her sentence in a correctional facility. Were there any disputes over property? The plaintiff requested that all joint property be transferred to him, citing that his wife’s crimes had caused him moral damage.

 The court granted the request in full. The apartment, car, bank accounts, everything went to Mr. Simpson. Do you have any information on Valyria Weber’s current whereabouts? The court documents only list the address of the correctional facility. After her release, all traces of her were lost. Criminalist Green finished processing the fingerprints from the crime scene and sent them for verification through the national law enforcement database.

The response came in the afternoon. There’s a match, detective, he told Shane Pike on the phone. Valyriia Weber, 34 years old, previously convicted of organized credit card fraud. She served her sentence in women’s correctional colony number 7 from January 2022 to September 2023. Shane Pike immediately contacted the colony administration.

 The head of the institution, Colonel James Stewart, agreed to meet the next day and provide complete information about the former prisoner. Valyria Weber was a difficult case for us, the colonel said in his office. She came in as a typical fraudster, but during her sentence, serious changes took place. She was diagnosed with HIV, which radically affected her behavior.

 How did she react to the diagnosis? Very badly. At first, she denied it. Then, she fell into a deep depression, and then she became aggressive. She was absolutely convinced that she had been infected by her husband who had hidden his illness from her. After that, she only talked about revenge. Did her husband visit her in prison? He visited her regularly for the first few months, but after the diagnosis, contact ceased.

 She wrote him letters, but received no replies. Then she learned of the divorce from official documents. Prison doctor Ronald Kings gave a detailed medical assessment of Valyria. It was a very painful case for all of us, explained the gay bearded doctor. The HIV infection was discovered during a routine examination after the death of a cellmate from AIDS.

 Tests showed that the infection occurred shortly before her arrest during the so-called cerological window. Did she express any suspicions about the source of the infection? constantly. Valyria claimed that her husband had been cheating on her with prostitutes in the months leading up to her arrest. She recalled strange behavior on his part, frequent absences, the smell of other women’s perfume, unwillingness to be intimate.

 She was convinced that he knew about his illness and deliberately infected her. How did her behavior change after the diagnosis? She went from being a calm, easygoing prisoner to an angry, vengeful woman. She constantly talked about how her husband had to pay for his betrayal. We even considered transferring her to a psychiatric ward.

 Shane Pike tracked down information about Valyria’s whereabouts after her release. Social worker Jessica Brown from the second chance charity remembered her client well. Valyria came to us immediately after her release from prison. Brown said in her small office, “It was a very difficult case. She was ill, homeless, without means of support, and had a criminal record.

 We helped her apply for disability benefits and find a place in a hostel. How did she feel about her ex-husband?” With absolute hatred. Every time the conversation turned to the past, she started talking about revenge. She claimed that he had ruined her life and had to answer for it. No attempts to convince her to forget the past helped.

When did you last see her? A month ago. She came to get information about subsidized medication. She looked terrible. She had lost a lot of weight. Her skin was yellow. Her hands were shaking. Her illness had clearly progressed. She asked if it was possible to find someone at her old address. Did you help her? I advised her to contact the information service, but warned her that it was better not to stir up the past. She didn’t listen.

 She said it would all be over soon. Carol Davis, the administrator of the women’s dormatory on Franklin Street, confirmed that Valyria Weber had moved out 2 weeks ago without giving a new address. “She had been acting very strangely for the last month,” said the elderly administrator. She used to hardly ever leave her room, but then she started disappearing for days at a time.

She would come back late at night, walking like a ghost through the hallways. Did she have any visitors? Any phone calls? I never saw anyone. She was a very lonely, sick woman. Her neighbors complained that she moaned in pain at night. She asked for advice on strong painkillers without a prescription. Did she say anything about her plans? She mentioned only once that she had found the one she was looking for.

 She said it with a strange smile that frightened me. A week later, she packed her things and disappeared. Shane Pike sent out alerts about Valerie Weber to all district police stations, airports, bus stations, and train stations. Special attention was paid to medical facilities where she could receive specialized care. Dr.

 Michael Turner, a physician at the Main Street City Clinic, reported important information. “Valyria Weber came to see me 4 days ago for a prescription for anti-retroviral drugs,” he said over the phone. “Her condition is critical. The disease is in its terminal stage. I strongly recommended hospitalization, but she categorically refused.

” Did she explain why she refused? She said she had urgent business to take care of. She asked for the maximum dose of painkillers. She looked like someone who was preparing to die. Three days later, District Inspector Carl Baker from the Eastern District called the detective. Shane Pike seems to have found your suspect.

 A woman matching the description is renting a room in a private house at 41 East Avenue. The land lady is in a panic. She says the tenant is acting suspiciously. The land lady, Betty Smith, a 70-year-old widow, met the detective on the porch of her old two-story house. “This woman showed up a week ago,” Smith said excitedly.

 “She said her name was Vera White and paid cash for a month in advance. She refused to show her documents, explaining that she had lost her purse. What did you find strange about her behavior? She looks terminally ill, but refuses help. She hardly eats and doesn’t leave her room during the day.

 Only at night do I hear her walking down the hallway. And yesterday I saw a bloody knife in her room. Are you sure it was a knife? Absolutely. She forgot to close the door when she went to the bathroom. I looked in and saw a large kitchen knife on the table covered in dried blood. I knew right away that I had to call the police. Shane Pike organized an operation to apprehend the suspect.

 The SWAT team led by Sergeant Black surrounded the house and the detective and two officers went up to the second floor. Valyriia Weber, this is the Houston Police Department, Shane Pike shouted loudly, knocking on the door of room number three. Come out with your hands up. There was no sound from behind the door. The detective nodded to Officer Davis, who broke down the old wooden door with a single blow of his shoulder.

 Valyriia Weber sat on the edge of an iron bed in a tiny attic room. She looked like a living skeleton, her yellow skin stretched tightly over her skull, her deep set eyes burning with a feverish glow. On the bedside table lay empty packages of strong painkillers and a large kitchen knife with traces of dried blood.

 “Valyria Weber, you are under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Rodney and Christina Simpson,” Shinnipike announced, carefully handcuffing her. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court.” The woman did not resist. She seemed relieved by the arrest. I knew you would find me,” she whispered in a barely audible voice.

 “And I’m glad. I’m tired of hiding.” Valyria spent her first hours at the central police station in the medical unit. Her condition required constant medical supervision. Her court-appointed lawyer, Steven Holloway, a young specialist with little experience in criminal defense, tried to convince his client to refrain from giving testimony.

 Valyria, don’t say anything until we’ve reviewed all the case materials, Holloway insisted. Your health condition could be a mitigating factor. I don’t care, she replied in a weak voice. I’m going to die soon. I want to tell the truth about what Rodney did to me. The interrogation took place the next day in the presence of a lawyer and a doctor in a specially equipped room at the police station.

Shane Pike turned on the video recording and began with the formal procedures. Valyriia Weber. Do you understand the charges against you? The detective [music] asked. Yes. The murder of Rodney and his wife Christina, she replied clearly despite her weakness. Do you [music] admit your guilt in these crimes? Yes, I killed them, both of them.

 And I don’t regret killing Rodney, but Christina, I feel sorry for her. Tell us in your own words what happened on October 27th. Valyria slowly, pausing often to rest, told the whole story. How Rodney had infected her with HIV by cheating on her with prostitutes in the last months of their marriage. How how he abandoned her in prison, filed for divorce, and married another woman.

 How she found his new address and saw that he was hiding his illness from his young wife. I realized that he was killing her and the baby, Valyria said, staring at the floor. Just like he killed me slowly, day by day, infecting [music] them with a deadly disease. I couldn’t let that happen. Did you plan the murder in advance? I bought the knife at a hardware store 5 days ago.

 I just wanted to make him confess his illness to Christine so she could take her medicine and save the baby. But when he started lying and denying everything, what happened in the house? Christine let me in when I said I was Rodney’s ex-wife. He came downstairs, saw me, and turned pale. He asked his wife to come upstairs.

 I showed him the knife, and asked if he was going to tell the truth about HIV. He started lying, saying he didn’t know anything, that he had only recently found out about the disease. And then you hit him. I couldn’t take it anymore. Four years of hatred just exploded inside me. The first blow was to his chest and he fell.

 Then again and again. I don’t remember how many times [music] I hit him. What happened to Christina? Valyria began to cry. She heard the screams and ran downstairs. She saw her husband covered in blood and started screaming that she would call the police. I panicked. I realized that I would be imprisoned and Rodney would never be punished.

 I caught up with her at the stairs. Do you understand that you killed [music] a pregnant woman? It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life. Christina was innocent and the baby. She couldn’t continue. Did you leave the house immediately after the murder? I wiped the knife on the curtain and hid it in my bag.

 I left through the backyard as planned. There was no one on the street. I thought no one had noticed me. Medical examiner Donald Rice confirmed that the blood on the knife matched the blood samples of both victims. Forensic geneticist Laura Thomas determined that the gray fabric fibers found in the house matched the material of the suspect’s coat.

 All the physical evidence pointed to Valyria Weber’s guilt. Valyria Weber’s trial began 5 months later in the Houston County Courthouse, presided over by Judge Harold Stone. By this time, the defendant’s condition had deteriorated critically. She was confined to a wheelchair, had difficulty speaking, and weighed less than 40 kg.

 The state was represented by assistant district attorney Michael Davis and the defense was led by attorney Donald Reed, who was appointed to replace Holloway, who had fallen ill. In his opening statement, prosecutor Davis clearly stated the prosecution’s position. The defendant committed a coldblooded double murder out of revenge against her ex-husband.

She planned the crime, acquired the murder weapon, tracked down the victims, and brutally killed them. An especially aggravating circumstance is the murder of a pregnant woman, which effectively means triple murder. Detective Shane Pike was the first witness for the prosecution. He gave a detailed account of the investigation, presented all the evidence gathered, and played a video recording of the defendant’s confession.

 Valyriia Weber carefully planned her revenge on her ex-husband. The detective testified she found his new address, studied the family’s routine, and purchased a weapon. This was not a spontaneous crime, but a wellplanned act of revenge. Medical examiner Patricia Clark presented a detailed report on the cause of death. Rodney Simpson suffered four deep stab wounds to vital organs, she explained, showing diagrams on a large screen.

 The blows were delivered with great force with the blade penetrating to a depth of up to 15 cm. Christina Simpson suffered four similar wounds to her back and neck. Both died from massive blood loss. Forensic scientist Marcus Green presented the physical evidence. The defendant’s fingerprints were found on the handle of the victim’s front door, he said, showing enlarged photographs of the prince. The match is 100%.

Fabric fibers from her coat were found in the hallway. DNA analysis also confirms the defendant’s presence at the crime scene. Neighbor Mary Peterson confidently identified Valyria as the woman she saw leaving the house. It was definitely her, Peterson said, pointing to the defendant. The same figure, the same gate.

 I remember the gray coat and dark hair. I have no doubt. Hardware store clerk Steven Marsh confirmed the sale of the knife. This woman bought a kitchen knife from me 5 days before the murder, he said. I remember her well because she took a long time to choose it and check the sharpness of the blade. She said she needed it for cutting meat.

Prison doctor Dr. Kings testified about Valyria’s psychological state during her incarceration. After being diagnosed with HIV, she changed dramatically. The doctor testified she became aggressive, vengeful, obsessed with the idea of punishing her ex-husband. She repeatedly said that he should die for ruining her life.

Social worker Jessica Brown confirmed Valyria’s vengeful mood after her release. She was literally obsessed with revenge. Brown told the jury no attempts to convince her to start a new life helped. The only thing she was interested in was finding her ex-husband and taking revenge on him. Defense attorney Reed tried to portray his client as a victim of tragic circumstances.

He called psychiatrist Dr. Maria Lopez, who had examined Valyria. The defendant suffers from severe post-traumatic stress. Lopez concluded her husband’s betrayal, infection with a deadly disease, and two years in prison led to serious mental disorder. At the time of the crime, she was not able to fully control her actions.

Therapist Michael Turner spoke about the defendant’s critical health condition. Valyria Weber is in the terminal stage of HIV infection. He explained to the court, “The disease is progressing very rapidly. According to my estimates, without intensive treatment, she has a maximum of 3 to 4 months to live.

 On the fourth day of the trial, the defendant herself took the stand. Valyria struggled to get up from her wheelchair, leaning on the table for support. Her appearance made a strong impression on the jury. A living skeleton in a black dress. “I do not apologize for killing Rodney,” she said in a horse but clear voice.

 “He deliberately infected me with a deadly disease, left me to die in prison, and began to do the same to another woman. People like that don’t deserve to live.” Valyria looked at the jury. But I didn’t want to kill Christina. She was a good person, an innocent victim of his lies. I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry for her child who was never born.

 I will carry this sin until the day I die. Christina’s mother, Helen Banning, gave emotional testimony about her daughter’s personality, pausing several times to cry. My Christina was the kindest person in the world. She said she helped everyone who needed support. She dreamed of having a big family and was really looking forward to her first child.

 If Rodney really hid his illness from her, that’s terrible and despicable. But murder doesn’t solve problems. Now I’m left without a daughter and a grandson. Christina’s father, Robert Banning, tried to hold back his emotions. I cannot forgive the woman who killed my daughter and grandson, he said, looking directly at the defendant.

 Whatever her grievances against Rodney, Christina was innocent. She deserved a chance to know the truth and make her own decision. Rodney’s sister, Deborah Simpson, the only one of his relatives who agreed to testify, said, “My brother wasn’t a perfect person, and he may have made some serious mistakes,” she admitted. “But he sincerely loved Christina and the child.

 In the last few months, he was preparing to become a father, redecorating the room for the baby. If he hid his illness, it was not out of malice, but out of fear of losing his family. Christina’s colleague, Linda Smith, also testified on behalf of the victims. Christina loved Rodney very much and trusted him completely. She said she planned to spend her whole life with him and raise children.

 She deserved to know the truth about his condition, but she did not deserve to die for his mistakes. In his closing statement, prosecutor Davis emphasized the gravity of the crime. The defendant did not just kill two people. She destroyed an entire family and took the life of an unborn child. No personal grievance can justify such cruelty.

 Valerie Weber chose the path of revenge instead of going to court or to the authorities. Defense attorney Reed asked the court to show mercy in [music] his closing statement. Before you stands a dying woman who has been driven to despair by betrayal and terminal illness. She is not a cold-blooded killer but a victim of tragic circumstances.

 She will spend the remaining months of her life tormented by her conscience over the death of innocent Christina. The jury deliberated for 6 hours. The verdict was unanimous. guilty of firstdegree murder with aggravating circumstances. Judge Stone sentenced Valerie Weber to life imprisonment without the possibility of parole.

 In delivering the sentence, he said the defendant committed a particularly serious crime, taking the lives of two people and an unborn child. Although the court understands the tragic circumstances that led to the crime, vigilante justice is unacceptable in a civilized society. Valyria listened to the sentence without showing any emotion.

 As she was being led out of the courtroom, she stopped in front of Christina’s parents and whispered, “I’m sorry for everything.” A month after the sentencing, prison nurse Ruth Clarkson called Detective Shinnipike late in the evening. Valyria Weber has been acting very strangely the last few days. She asks for paper and pencil and says she has something to explain to the parents of the murdered girl.

 She hardly sleeps, cries constantly, and talks to herself. What is she talking about? asked Shane Pike. She keeps repeating. They have to understand why I did it. Why I killed her. She agonizes over this question day and night. Yesterday, she banged her head against the wall and we had to give her a sedative. Give her some paper.

 Maybe writing a letter will help her calm down. I already did. She writes non-stop, tears up the sheets, and starts over. She says she can’t find the right words. A week later, nightguard Robert Taylor was making his rounds and found Valyria dead. She was sitting at a small metal table, her head resting on her folded arms.

 In front of her were dozens of sheets of paper covered with writing. Dozens of attempts to explain to herself and to Christina’s parents the logic behind her actions. The doctor on duty pronounced her dead from cardiac arrest. Her body had not survived the final stage of the disease. Detective Shane Pike arrived at the prison the next morning and collected all of Valyria’s notes.

 Most of the sheets were crossed out, torn, rewritten, but the last few pages contained coherent text. The woman’s agonizing attempts to understand her own motives. I went to that house to kill Rodney. only him for infecting me with HIV and leaving me to die in prison. For three years, I dreamed of revenge. I bought a knife, tracked him down, and planned to make him pay for my ruined life. Christina shouldn’t have died.

 I didn’t plan to kill her. But when she saw her husband covered in blood and started screaming for help, I panicked. I realized she would ruin everything. She would call the police, the ambulance. Rodney could be saved, but I would be arrested and he would never receive real punishment for what he did to me.

 I killed her just so she wouldn’t get in the way of finishing the job, so she wouldn’t get in the way of my revenge. And then sitting in this cell, I started making up excuses for myself. That I wanted to save her from her illness. That I felt sorry for the child. That it was mercy. It’s all a lie. Christina died because she witnessed my revenge.

 The child died because the mother saw what she shouldn’t have seen. I killed an innocent pregnant woman to finish off her husband. There are no lofty motives, only selfishness, hatred, and cowardice. On the last page, in shaky handwriting, it said, “Christina’s parents, forgive me. Your daughter did not die because I wanted to save her.

 She died because she got in the way of my revenge. I could have let her live, run away, and accepted that Rodney would survive. But my hatred was stronger than my common sense. Christina was innocent. The child was innocent. They paid with their lives for my thirst for revenge. It is unforgivable. Detective Shinnipike personally visited Helen and Robert Banning the following evening.

 The elderly couple invited him into the living room where the fireplace was burning. On the mantelpiece were photos of Christina, school, graduation, [music] wedding. Valyria Weber died in prison. The detective said before she died, she wrote a letter for you. I don’t know if you should read it. Go ahead, Helen said.

 We have a right to know what was going on in the mind of our daughter’s killer. Shane Pike handed her the written pages. Helen began to read aloud, but halfway through the first page, her voice broke. Robert took the sheets and continued reading silently. When he finished, the room was silent. Helen cried, pressing a handkerchief to her eyes.

 Robert sat motionless, clutching the sheets in his hands. So, our daughter died simply because she prevented this mad woman from carrying out her revenge, Helen said quietly. A random victim of someone else’s hatred. Worse, Robert objected. She could have let Christina live. She could have run away, but she chose to kill an innocent woman just to make sure she got revenge on her husband.

 What do we do now? Helen asked. How can we live with the knowledge that our daughter died by accident? Robert stood up, walked over to the fireplace, and threw the papers into the fire. The paper burst into bright flames. Helen approached her husband, and they stood embracing, [music] watching the dancing flames. On the mantelpiece, Christina smiled in her white wedding dress, young, beautiful, full of hope for the future.

 Detective Shinpike quietly left the house, leaving the family alone with their grief. In the car, he opened the case file and wrote on the last page, “The suspect died in custody.