No One Who Knows the Secret Survives

The day I told my boyfriend I was pregnant, his grandmother slammed her head into a wall and died in front of me, taking a secret to her grave.
Everyone who learned that secret is now dead.
First, it was Harrys father. Then his mother. Finally, Harry himself swallowed a bottle of pills right before my eyes.
The media descended like vultures, digging for any scrap of information. The police hauled me in for questioning again and again. An army of online strangers savaged me day and night.
They all wanted to know the secret. They said Id cursed Harrys family, that Id killed them all just to keep it for myself.
I never defended myself. I remained silent.
Until the day of Harrys funeral, when I saw a certain man in the crowd.
In that moment, I rested a hand on my swollen belly, my heart as still and cold as a winter lake.
It was time for my child and me to die, too.


1
Harry took me home to meet his family after we found out I was pregnant.
The moment his grandmother saw my rounded stomach, she let out a piercing wail and launched herself, headfirst, into the living room wall.
A spiderweb of crimson bloomed across the pristine white paint. She didnt die instantly.
But the terrifying part was her eyes. They were wide open, bulging, as two streams of bloody tears seeped from the corners. Her gentle, kindly face was twisted into a mask of pure terror, as if she was staring at some unspeakable horror. The sight was grotesque, nightmarish.
Harrys mother fainted twice. His father cradled the grandmothers broken body, his cries raw and ragged.
A neighbor, drawn by the commotion, gently pointed out that the old woman was trying to speak, to leave some final words.
We all fell silent, straining to hear her last whisper. In the end, only Harrys father was close enough to understand.
She told him a secret. And then her breath rattled out for the last time.
The color drained from his face, his hands trembling as he clutched her body. He let out a guttural roar of despair. "Shes given us a death sentence!"
His reaction sent a jolt of panic through us. His wife rushed to his side, her voice a hushed whisper. "Honey, what did she say? What was it?"
He gave us all one last, deep, haunted look. Then he shoved his wife away. Before anyone could react, he followed his mothers lead, smashing his own head against the same bloodstained wall.
More blood spattered across the floorboards as he collapsed onto his mothers corpse.
His final expression was identical to hers: a rictus of absolute terror.
As he lay dying, his wife begged him to hold on, screaming that the ambulance was on its way. But as he gasped out his own final words to her, her face went sheet-white. She ended the emergency call.
After that, no matter who askednot even when the police pressed her with the harshest questionsshe refused to speak of the secret.
After the joint funeral for the grandmother and father, Harry seemed to have aged a decade overnight. He looked at his mother, his face etched with exhaustion.
"What was the secret Grandma told you? Why did Dad kill himself right after he heard it?"
His mother stroked an old family photo, silent tears tracing paths down her cheeks. "Stop asking. There was no secret."
"It was just a tragic accident. Don't overthink it."
Harrys voice was raw, cracking with grief. "That was my father! That was the grandmother who raised me! I watched them kill themselves! How can I do nothing?"
"At the very least, you have to tell me why!"
My heart fractured for him. I tried to reason with his mother. "Ma'am, they died right in front of us. How can you expect us to just move on?"
"Besides," I pressed, "they died just from knowing the secret. You heard it too. We're worried about you..."
I knew my words were blunt, but fear was overriding my manners.
Before I could finish, she cut me off, her voice like ice.
She hurled the family photo to the floor, the glass shattering. Her eyes were bloodshot, and the look she gave me was filled with a chilling hatred. "I told you, there is no secret!"
"You two couldn't wait, could you? Getting pregnant before you were married! You shamed them to death! Is that the answer you want?!"
The mention of their deaths brought fresh tears, and it was obvious her own grief was a raw, open wound. But just as quickly, she reined it in, taking a deep, shuddering breath.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice flat. "I'm not myself. I shouldn't have said that."
"His grandmother and father both had underlying health issues. The economy has been hard these last few years maybe they just didn't want to be a burden."
"That's enough," she finished, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Suicide is a shameful thing. We will not speak of this again."
Her resolve was like a steel door slamming shut. No matter how much we pleaded, she refused to say another word on the subject.
But a cold dread settled in my gut. My hand, resting on my belly, wouldn't stop trembling.
I needed to know why his grandmother, who had always been so fond of me, had chosen to die the instant she learned I was carrying her great-grandchild.
I needed to know her secret.

2
Harry was even more desperate for the secret than I was.
A week after his fathers death, his mother drank herself into a stupor, stumbling around the house in a haze of grief and alcohol.
Harry saw his chance. He cornered her, pressing her for the secret.
Her words were slurred, barely audible. Harry had to lean in close to hear. But as he listened, his face contorted into the same mask of terror Id seen on his father and grandmother.
Watching him, a fresh wave of fear washed over me. I rushed to his side. "What is it? What's the secret? Why do you and your mom look so terrified?"
He didn't answer. He just stood there, shell-shocked, holding his mother up.
Frantic, I moved to lean in myself, to hear it from her own lips.
But Harrys reaction stunned me.
Tears streamed from his eyes, a look of pure, helpless horror on his face. And then, he shoved me. He physically pushed me away from his mother.
"What are you doing?" I cried out, stumbling back. "I'm pregnant! Why would you push me?"
"What did she say? Why are you hiding it from me?"
But no matter how I pleaded, he wouldn't tell me.
He just looked at me, his eyes filled with a sorrow so deep it felt bottomless. "Clara," he whispered, "I pray you never have to know this secret."
I stood there, frozen, unable to comprehend what kind of secret could drive an entire family to this level of despair. Why did it fill them with such terror? Why did it make his father choose death on the spot?
Just then, his mother seemed to sober up. Her eyes, empty and hollow, drifted toward us.
A bitter, broken smile touched her lips. Slowly, it grew, until she was laughinga wild, unhinged sound that filled the room.
She grabbed Harrys hand, tears of mirth and madness streaming down her face.
"You wanted to know, son. You insisted. Well, now you get to live with the pain. Just like me."
I felt like I was breaking apart. How had things gone so wrong?
I had arrived at their home full of joy, gifts in hand, ready to meet the family of the man I loved. I thought this was the start of an even happier chapter.
Harry was a wonderful mancalm, kind, and stable. In three years, we had never had a single fight. His family was just like him: gentle people. A sweet grandmother, loving parents who spoke to each other in soft tones.
Hed told me so much about me, said they were all excited to finally meet the woman he loved. His grandmother, especially, had adored me from afar, sending Harry money to buy me gifts, mailing me local delicacies, and always telling him to cherish me.
But it all shattered the moment I said, "I'm pregnant."
His grandmother died. His father followed. His mother was a ghost of her former self, and Harry Harry was now a stranger, silent and haunted by a darkness I couldnt see.
It felt like the entire world had turned against us.
In the weary days that followed, one question echoed in my mind: What was the grandmothers secret?
I wasn't the only one wondering. After the neighbors posted the story online, it went viral. The next day, bowing to public pressure, the police were back at our door.

3
Harry's mother had gone to stay with her family. Harry was at work. That left only me to answer the questions.
The lead detective was tactful. "Sometimes, with the elderly, there can be cognitive issues, things you might not notice. Perhaps she was more confused than you realized."
I thought back over every interaction, every phone call with his grandmother over the past three years. I shook my head firmly. "Impossible. She had a full check-up twice a year. The last one was two weeks ago. She was perfectly healthy. No signs of dementia, nothing."
He looked disappointed. "And Mr. Crofts father?" he tried again. "We heard he was having some trouble at work, that there were rumors of layoffs. Is it possible he felt ashamed? Perhaps the grandmother's last words were that she was killing herself so as not to be a burden, and in his shame, he followed?"
I had watched them die. I had seen the resolve in their eyes as they turned from living, breathing people into corpses.
"No," I said, my voice shaking. "They wouldn't kill themselves for such a ridiculous reason. Absolutely not."
The police offered other theories, but I shot them all down. Realizing they weren't going to get anything from me, they prepared to leave. After all, these were confirmed suicides, not homicides. They were only here because of the media frenzy.
But just as they were leaving, the junior detective, a man named Miles, rushed back in.
He looked at me, scratching the back of his head nervously. "Can you get ahold of your boyfriend?"
"Your mother-in-law I mean, Harry's mother. She jumped from a building."
I didn't believe him. The world tilted, my legs gave out, and I crumpled to the floor. The air in my lungs turned to stone.
They couldn't reach Harry, so they took me with them. The area below the high-rise was already cordoned off, surrounded by a crowd of morbidly curious onlookers.
When they saw me being helped out of the police car, phones immediately came up, cameras flashing.
"That's the daughter-in-law, right? The one whose father-in-law and grandmother-in-law both died the day she showed up!"
"What a jinx. It's like she drove them all to their deaths!"
"And now the mother, too. What about her son and the pregnant girl? How are they supposed to live with this?"
The words washed over me, but my heart was too numb to feel them. I knew his mother was devastated, but I never imagined she would take her own life.
An officer gently pulled me aside. "The fall it was from the thirtieth floor. The body is its a mess. You shouldn't look. Where is your boyfriend?"
He leaned in closer. "A witness said that right before she jumped, she was muttering the word 'secret' over and over. We think it's the same secret that drove his father and grandmother to suicide!"
Despite his warnings, I pushed past the white sheets covering the scene. I saw the shattered remains of Harry's mother. Thirty stories. There was no surviving that. She knew that. And she still jumped.
I couldn't hold it together anymore. I fell to my knees on the cold pavement and wept.
I had only come to meet my boyfriend's family, like any normal person would. Instead, I had become a witness to their horrific, sequential deaths.
I didn't understand. What secret could be so powerful that it made death seem like the only escape?
Detective Miles looked at me with a flicker of pity. "Clara, I know this is overwhelming, but you need to pull yourself together. The pattern is clear now. Everyone who knows the secret dies."
He locked his eyes on mine. "What is that secret? Do you know? Does your boyfriend know?"

4
My mind was a fog of grief, incapable of forming a coherent thought. I could only shake my head, tears streaming down my face.
I didn't know. I knew nothing.
I wanted to know the secret more than they did. I needed to know what could have made Harrys kind grandmother kill herself the second she heard I was pregnant.
Just then, Harry arrived, rushing through the crowd.
He was like a still, dark lake. He looked at the wreckage of his only remaining family member and absorbed the horror with a terrifying calm.
He looked at the mangled body on the ground, then turned to the police. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "I know the secret."
"My grandmother, my father, and my mother all killed themselves because of it."
"Now, I'm the only one who knows."
"But the time isn't right. I won't be revealing it. Not yet."
Harry handled his mother's funeral arrangements with that same eerie composure, and then he took me home.
I still didn't know the secret, but a horrifying suspicion was beginning to form: it had something to do with my pregnancy.
I was terrified. Terrified that Harry, the last keeper of the secret, would follow his family's path.
I lived in a state of constant dread, my hands always on my growing belly, praying that I wouldn't wake up one day to find him gone.
But he was surprisingly calm. He went to work, he took meticulous care of me, he made plans for the baby. Slowly, my anxiety began to recede. I thought maybe he had found a way to live with the grief.
The only strange thing was that he started spending hours locked in his study, the sound of his keyboard clicking away late into the night. I had a feeling he was documenting the secret, but whenever I asked, he would deny it. I had no choice but to pretend I didn't notice.
I thought we could continue like that, in our fragile peace. But then one day, without any warning, Harry started a live stream. He stared into the camera, his expression grim, and announced that the time had come. He was going to reveal the secret to the world.
As the viewer count skyrocketed past one hundred thousand, he turned to me, his hand gripping mine tightly. "Clara," he said, his voice gentle. "I know you've been desperate to know Grandma's secret."
"The time is now. I'm going to tell you everything."
He pulled me into a hug, his hand caressing my belly one last time. Then he leaned in and whispered the secret into my ear
By the time I understood what he was saying, it was too late. Tears streamed down my face before my brain could even process the words. My eyes widened in horror, a violent, full-body tremor seizing me.
I opened my mouth to scream, to question him, but he was already pushing me away, tears glistening in his own eyes. He stumbled backward toward the door, and then a torrent of crimson erupted from his lips.
A primal fear shot through me. I scrambled toward him, half crawling, half falling.
"Harry! Don't die! Please, don't die! You can't leave me and the baby alone!"
But it was too late. Blood poured from his mouth in an unending stream. Within seconds, the light left his eyes.
Just like his grandmother, his father, and his mother, he chose to end his life in front of me, leaving me alone with the despair.
I held my belly and watched the last breath leave his body. I begged him to stay, but he was already gone.
I cried until I had no tears left, kneeling on the floor like a broken doll. The grief was a physical weight, crushing me, but beneath it was something else, something colder: terror.
Because the secret Harry had told me was more horrifying than I could ever have imagined.
No wonder no wonder they all chose to die.
Now I knew the secret.
And my child and I had to die too.

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