The Last Mystery Box Says No Chapter 04By Novel7s / September 15, 2026 The Last Mystery Box Says No Chapter 04It was empty.I pulled the mystery–box slips I’d saved for three years out of my wallet, one by one.$9.90.$6.60.$5.30.$1.80.I threw them all in a trash can by the street. Then I walked to the station and boarded the airport express.Weston’s last message stayed on my screen. I never opened it.He probably thought I was still waiting to beg him.He didn’t know there was nothing left to beg for.Seven days were up.Three days after that.Weston called the hospital: “Tell the gold digger that she doesn’t need to draw mystery boxes anymore starting next month.”“I’ll give her a normal allowance, tell her to drop the whole hard–to–get routine.”The nurse’s voice sounded confused. “Ms. Whitlock checked herself out three days ago.”“And the baby?”Silence on the line for a long time.“Mr. Ashcroft, the baby… resuscitation failed three days ago.She paused.“She passed.”Weston’s pupils blew wide, Blood rushed straight to his head.He stared at the screen, already hung up, frozen solid.Then, the next second, he laughed.He called his assistant.“Find out what actually happétied with the baby.”He lit a cigarette, leaned back against his car seat, voice back to cold indifference.“Probably another one orker money schemes. Bribed a nurse to play along, trying to squeeze cash out ofme.”The assistant said nothing.“Find out for sure. I want to see how much she’s trying to extort this time.Half the cigarette burned down before the call came back.The assistant’s voice sounded strange.“Mr. Ashcroft… the baby… she’s really gone.”“Resuscitation failed three days ago. The one who signed the death certificate was Mrs. Ashcroft herself.”Weston’s hand froze mid–flick of ash.“What?”“Newborn high fever with complications, emergency surgery was needed, but… the payment never camethrough.”Long silence. Only the faint hiss of the cigarette burning down to the filter.He stubbed it out.“Her methods keep getting more sophisticated.”He laughed once. “Even faking a death certificate. A gold digger really will do anything for money.”The assistant looked like he wanted to say something.“Mr. Ashcroft, I verified it. It’s real…”“That’s enough.”He started the car.Back home.A gap sat empty on the shoe rack by the entryway–the flat shoes she’d worn for three years were gone.The living room lights were off, curtains drawn.He opened the bedroom closet.His side–suits and shirts, perfectly lined up.Her side–empty.All her clothes, gone.He pulled open the bottom drawer.The baby’s things, gone too.Those secondhand outfits, the blanket the nurse had given her, the onesie from her friend.All gone.Deep in the closet, only an empty diaper bag remained.Zipper open. Nothing inside.He stared at that bag for a while.Suddenly he remembered that night he’d come home and found her crouched in front of the closet, packing.He’d said she was putting on a sad–widow act.She hadn’t turned around.He walked into the living room.The secondhand crib was still there in the corner.The paint had chipped off one of the rails, revealing gray wood underneath.She’d found it somewhere, assembled it herself, the screws all crooked.He stood in front of it, hands in his pockets.Empty. The crib was empty. The house was empty.He pulled out his phone, texted Sabrina.[Come home when you’re done with the act.]Then called. No answer.Phone off.He sent another message.[How much do you want? Name a number.]A red exclamation mark popped up next to the message.He scoffed, tossed the phone on the coffee table, sat down on the couch.The house was too quiet.At this hour, there used to be a baby cryingShe’d carry her, pace the living room, circle after circle.Even with his door shut he’d heard it.Every single time.He leaned back against the couch, his chest feeling like something had been carved out.He closed his eyes. A single image flashed through his mind.A spot on the crib rail where the paint had peeled–she’d stuck a small sticker there.One star.The sticker was still there now.Only the crib was empty.
