She notices the trashcan.

Vanilla's thoughts drifted aimlessly as she sat there, the gentle sound of running water filling the steamy air around her. Her fingers had long since stilled on her cock, her mind too preoccupied with the weight of everything, though with pre-cum dribbling on her fingers. The pain of Cream's disappearance had dulled into a numb ache over the past weeks, but it still lingered like a deep bruise, one she couldn't quite bring herself to press too hard on.

Her gaze wandered idly around the bathroom, tracing over familiar details; the shower curtain, the tiled walls, the mirror fogging up with condensation, before settling on something small and insignificant yet suddenly looming in importance. The trash can...

Her brows furrowed slightly as she stared at it. Had she taken out the trash since Cream went missing? A small flicker of curiosity bloomed in her mind. It was ridiculous, really. Why would the answer to anything be in a bathroom trash can? But some irrational part of her whispered that it wouldn’t hurt to check. Maybe there’s something—anything. A note? Plane ticket stubs? A… pregnancy test? Her heart thudded painfully at that last thought. Wouldn't that be something? If Cream had left because… because she was scared? Or hiding something? Vanilla swallowed, suddenly feeling the weight of the unknown pressing down on her.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she leaned forward, releasing her grip on her cock and flipping open the trash lid. The moment her eyes landed on the contents inside, her breath caught in her throat. A blood-soaked towel.

Vanilla froze, her fingers tightening against the plastic rim of the trash can as she stared at the deep, crimson-stained fabric. The color had darkened over time, dried and clotted in places, but there was no mistaking it. This wasn’t just some small cut or scrape—this was a lot of blood.

Her body tensed, her heart rate climbing as her eyes darted to what was beneath it. A small, wilted rose. A box of chocolates, its once-pristine packaging stained by the faint, rust-colored smudges of dried blood. The breath she had been holding left her in a sharp exhale, her stomach twisting violently. Her fingers trembled as she hesitated, staring at the evidence before her. Evidence. That’s what this was. A clue? No, a sign. A warning.

Vanilla's hands clenched into fists as the pieces started aligning in her mind. These chocolates, this rose, they weren’t hers. They weren’t Vector’s....They were Tails’. She knew that. She _knew _that. He had brought them for Cream. She had never seen Cream with them, never heard her mention them. But now, here they were, discarded and forgotten beneath a bloodied towel.

Her entire body ran cold, dread creeping up her spine like icy fingers. Why was it here? Why was it hidden here? And why hadn’t Vector told her about it?

Her breath quickened, the pressure building in her chest. The steamy warmth of the bathroom suddenly felt suffocating, her naked skin damp with something more than just humidity. She did not want to believe what her mind was starting to tell her. But this wasn’t a misunderstanding. This wasn’t something small. This was wrong. And she wasn’t ready for what it meant...

Vanilla's breath hitched coming in shallow breaths, her fingers gripping the edge of the trash can so tightly that her knuckles turned white. The world around her seemed to shrink, the warm steam of the bathroom now suffocating instead of soothing. The sound of the running shower became distant, muffled, drowned out by the pounding in her ears.

The day they went missing… The memory hit her like a tidal wave. She remembered it so clearly now. How Vector had been acting a little off. How he had spent an unusually long time up in this very bathroom, showering while she cooked downstairs. She had thought nothing of it at the time—he was a big guy, and sometimes after a long day, he took his time to unwind. She had been in the kitchen, humming to herself, just like any other evening. The warm aroma of her cooking had filled the house, the comforting sounds of home wrapping around her like a blanket.

And Vector… he had been up here. He had been up here for a long time.

She had called out to him when he finally came downstairs, noticing how damp his scales still were, the way his towel clung to his body. She had asked, playfully, "What took you so long?"

"Just had to clean up a bit of a mess," he had answered casually, his voice steady.... A mess.

Vanilla’s stomach turned violently as bile rose in her throat. She looked down at the towel again, her vision blurring with tears. This wasn’t a coincidence. This wasn’t paranoia. This was evidence. Tails and Cream had gone missing that day.

Tails’ plane was still outside, untouched, abandoned. He had arrived. He had been here. Her pulse pounded so hard it drowned out every rational thought. The Tornado was still sitting outside, exactly where Tails had left it. He hadn’t left. He hadn’t gone anywhere. Because he never got the chance.

And now, this. The bloody towel. The chocolates. The withered rose. All stuffed away like garbage.

Her body went rigid, the blood draining from her face. Slowly, her gaze lifted from the trash, her wide, tear-filled eyes locking onto the wall ahead of her. On the other side of it… their bedroom... Vector.

The man she had just made love to. The man who had whispered he loved her, had kissed her deeply, had let her forget—for just a moment—the pain of losing her daughter. Her body trembled, a cold sweat forming over her skin. Her chest tightened, breath hitching in panic. Her cock shriveled up, retreating completely as her body rejected the wave of horror washing over her.

She did not want to believe this. But how could she deny it? The evidence sat right in front of her. Her hands gripped the trash can tighter as she fought back the scream clawing at her throat. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she stared at the wall, her entire world shattering into pieces.

The man in my bed… The man I just fucked… He killed my daughter.