Taking Jason by the arm.
As if I belonged there.
The path to the altar
The whispers spread through the church like wildfire.
Jason acted as if he couldn't hear them.
As if she didn't notice the stares fixed on her back.
He simply led Rachel down the hallway.
Forward.
Towards Lily's coffin.
Rachel's heels clicked softly against the tiled floor.
Each step felt like a hammer pounding inside my skull.
My nails dug into my palms.
How dare he?
How dare he?
They reached the front row.
Lily's row.
Jason sat down.
And Rachel rested her head on his shoulder.
As if she were the grieving widow.
My vision blurred with rage.
I half got up from my seat.
"I'm going to drag her out of here," I muttered.
But my father grabbed my wrist and made me sit down again.
—Not here, Em—she said softly—.
Not during service.
My chest
It was burning.
I wanted to scream.
He wanted to overturn the banks.
But Dad's hand tightened.
And slowly, reluctantly, I sat down.
Jason didn't even look at the coffin.
The pastor's words
The service continued, although the tension in the room had become thick and uncomfortable.
The pastor spoke of Lily's kindness.
Her laughter.
His love for children.
She spoke of the nursery she had already decorated in pale yellow and soft blue.
From the baby clothes that she had carefully folded in the drawers.
Of the name he had chosen.
Noah.
The pastor paused.
"Even though his life never began," she said softly, "Noah was already deeply loved."
My mother burst into tears again.
I stared at Jason.
Trying to understand how a man could bring his lover to his pregnant wife's funeral.
I was trying to understand how someone could be so cruel.
CONTINUE READING...>>
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