# Chapter 39: The Weight of a Gun
Hello everyone, it's me again! How are you all doing? Today I will continue to walk with you and review Chapter 39 of "The Housemaid's Secret" — and trust me, this is one of those chapters that will leave you breathless, heart pounding, and staring at the page in complete disbelief. So grab a seat, take a deep breath, and let's step into that penthouse one last time.
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The echo of the gunshot was still ringing in Millie's ears when she opened her eyes. The world felt muffled, distant, as if she were watching herself from somewhere far above. Douglas Garrick lay on the floor, utterly still, a dark pool of blood spreading slowly beneath his body. For a moment, neither woman moved. The air was thick with the metallic scent of gunpowder and something far worse — death.
Wendy was the first to break the silence. She knelt beside her husband, her hands trembling as she reached for his neck, pressing two fingers against his carotid artery. She stayed there, frozen in that terrible moment, searching for any sign of life. Then she looked up at Millie, and her face said everything her mouth hadn't yet spoken.
"There's no pulse."
Oh God.
"He's dead," Wendy whispered, her voice hoarse and broken. "He's really dead."
Millie's words tumbled out in a rush, desperate and raw. "I didn't mean to kill him. I... I was just trying to get him to take his hands off of you. I never meant to—"
But Wendy cut her off, and the words that came next were not accusations or blame. They were gratitude.
"Thank you," Wendy said. "Thank you for saving my life. I knew you would."
The two women stared at each other across the body of the man who had tormented them both. Millie tried to hold onto that thought — I saved her life. I have to remember that. I'll have to explain it to the police when they get here.
But Wendy had other plans. She rose to her feet, her legs unsteady beneath her, and began to speak rapidly, feverishly, as if the solution had just ignited in her panicked mind.
"You need to leave. We... we can wipe the fingerprints off the gun. That should work, shouldn't it? Yes, yes, I'm sure it will. I won't call the police for a couple of hours, and then I'll tell them... Oh! I can say I thought Douglas was an intruder and shot him by accident. It was all an accident, you know? They'll believe that. I'm sure they will."
Millie's heart raced. The idea of escaping the consequences, of having the heat lifted from her shoulders, was tempting beyond words. But even in her shock, she saw the flaw. "But the doorman saw when Douglas entered the building."
Wendy shook her head, a wild gleam in her eyes. "No, he didn't. Some of the residents have access to the back entrance, and he always comes in that way."
"Is there a camera there?"
"No. No camera."
"What about the cameras in the elevators?"
Wendy actually snorted. "Those? Those are merely decorative. One of them broke five years ago, and the other has been out of commission for at least two years."
Could this really work? Millie had just shot Douglas Garrick in cold blood. The man was dead because of her. Was there any chance she could get away with this without any consequences?
Then again, it wouldn't be the first time.
"Leave now," Wendy insisted, stepping over Douglas's body, carefully sidestepping the growing pool of blood. "I will take responsibility for this. This is on me. I brought you into this, and I am not going to drag you down with me. Get out of here while you still can."
"Wendy..."
"Go!" Her eyes looked almost as wild as Douglas's did when his hands were wrapped around her neck. "Please, Millie. This is the only way."
Millie's throat tightened. "Okay," she said quietly. "But... if you need me..."
Wendy reached out and squeezed her arm. "Believe me, you've done enough." Then she hesitated, a flicker of practical cunning breaking through her panic. "You should delete all our text messages. The ones from me, and also the ones from Douglas. Just in case."
It was an extremely good idea. Wendy and Millie had discussed things in those messages that the police absolutely could not see if they started investigating this murder. And it would be far better if they didn't see the texts between Millie and Douglas either — especially the ones noting that today would be her last session. Millie grabbed her purse, her hands shaking so badly she could barely function, but she managed to delete the conversations with both Garricks from her phone.
"Don't try to contact me," Wendy said. "I will take care of this, Millie. Don't worry."
Millie started to argue, but then she shut her mouth. There was no point. Wendy had already decided that she wanted to take the heat, and it was in Millie's best interest to let her. She said goodbye to the penthouse, knowing she would never set foot in this place ever again. The last thing she saw when she left the bedroom was Wendy standing over Douglas's dead body.
And she was smiling.
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The entire subway ride back to the Bronx, Millie couldn't stop shaking. Every part of her body trembled, as if her nerves had been replaced with live wires. The subway was crowded, yet nobody sat down on either side of her. She could feel their eyes stealing glances at her — pity, suspicion, fear. They must think she was a crazy person. She basically spent the entire ride hugging herself, rocking back and forth like a lost child.
I can't believe I killed him. I didn't mean to.
But that wasn't fair. She had shot the man in the chest. It would be a lie to say that she didn't want him dead. But this was the last way she wanted things to unfold when she saw that gun in the dictionary. She had imagined a thousand scenarios, but not this. Not blood on her hands. Not this hollow, churning horror in her stomach.
Yet she told herself: It's going to be okay. I've been through this before.
Wendy will stick to her story. The police won't have any idea that Millie was involved.
Now she just had to deal with the fact that she had killed a man.
Again.
The second she got out of the subway station, her phone buzzed. A missed call. She pulled it out of her purse, half expecting it to be Wendy with some frantic update, but instead, the screen was filled with missed calls and voicemails from Brock.
Oh no. They were supposed to have dinner tonight.
That night, the night everything had gone so horribly wrong, the night Millie had become a killer — again — she had completely forgotten about the man waiting for her, about the life she was supposed to be building, about the hope she had dared to reach for. In the wake of a dead body and a smiling widow, there was only one thought left in her mind:
What now?
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Reader's Impressions & Star Rating:
This chapter was a wild, suffocating ride from start to finish. The tension in that penthouse was so thick you could cut it with a knife, and the moment Wendy smiled over Douglas's body — chills. Absolutely chills. Millie's internal turmoil is raw and honest; she's not a cold-blooded killer, she's a survivor who keeps getting dragged back into darkness. The writing pulls you into every moment of panic, every trembling breath. I loved the pacing, the dialogue, and the unbearable weight of Millie's realization that she's been through this before. The cliffhanger with Brock's missed calls adds a heartbreaking layer to an already devastating chapter.
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Rating: 4.9 / 5 Stars
Next Chapter Prediction:
I think Brock is going to show up at Millie's apartment, worried out of his mind because she stood him up. He might sense something is deeply wrong — maybe he'll see the panic in her eyes, maybe he'll push her to tell him the truth. Meanwhile, Wendy's "perfect plan" might start to crack, or perhaps the police will arrive at Brock's door with questions that Millie can't escape. Something tells me this secret is about to get very, very heavy.
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