The day is frigid and covered in grey. A light mist falls down on the cold earth as I drive across town to the cemetery where Bennett’s parents own family plots. I go alone—the black widow. Everything is black, including the limos and town cars that line the winding street, skirting its way through the immaculate grounds of Bennett’s final resting place.
As I park the car, I take a moment to breathe before I notice Baldwin walking my way, carrying a large umbrella over his head. I haven’t seen him since I let him go last week. Bennett is gone, and it’s time to start eliminating the remnants of him entirely, including his staff. I always liked Baldwin—I liked Clara as well—but after I let go of Baldwin, I said goodbye to her too. They both understood as I explained my reasoning. Clara was the hardest because a small part of me always felt connected to her as a mother figure to me, even though she was never mine to claim.
“Mrs. Vanderwal,” Baldwin acknowledges when he opens my door and takes my hand to help me out of the car.
“Thank you,” I murmur, eyes guarded behind my dark sunglasses.
His eyes are soft, full of concern, and I can tell he wants to say something, so I give him a smile filled with sorrow and he nods in shared pain, only mine is deceitful.
I loop my arm through his as he leads me over to the burial plot where Bennett’s casket is perched above ground, flanked by numerous sprays of fragrant flowers and weeping loved ones. I join them as tears roll freely down my face and drip slowly from my jaw. This asshole they mourn is the pure hate that festers in me. And these tears aren’t for him—they’re because of him.
As I’m led to the last empty chair, next to Bennett’s mother, my eyes meet Jacqueline’s over his casket. I want to smile at that pathetic woman, but I don’t, and she quickly looks away from me, shifting in awkwardness. She knows I know. The attorney called me the other day to tell me that he met with her to discuss Bennett’s will and trust for their bastard child.
I sit.
Time passes.
Words of hope and the glory and abundance of God wane on.
Life is a gift, the priest praises.
Bullshit.
The sounds of rain trickling down and people crying dissipate the longer I sit. Many stop and offer me their condolences as I cry and pretend the words that were just spoken here were really meant for Declan and Pike. I sit and reflect on them, honoring their lives today, not his. So I nod and quietly thank each person as they one-by-one turn their backs and walk away, emptying the cemetery.
Richard and Jacqueline stop, and in a very out of character move on Richard’s part, he gives me a hug, albeit short and tense. Looking over to the betrayer, she tilts her head in unspoken sorrow before opening her arms to me. I take her offering for appearance’s sake.
“I’m terribly sorry,” she whispers her multi-layered sympathies.
I pull back, keeping the interaction short.
“Thank you for being here.”
“Call if you need anything,” she says, which I’m sure is more for keeping her husband aloof than it is sincerity for me.
I nod and then Jacqueline walks off with Richard without saying another word.
Only a few people linger when my heart catches at the sight of Callum, Declan’s father. I’ve been purposefully hiding from everything Declan because my heart just can’t take the pain, but when Cal’s eyes meet mine, I stand and walk toward him.
The endearment he always held for me is no longer there, only the stone face of a man who has just lost his son.
“Cal,” I whisper, approaching him as he stands under a large tree. He doesn’t speak. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Your husband was a man I always admired. You know that.”
I nod and nearly choke on my own fractured heart when I respond on broken breath, “Your son . . . I am so sorry.”
I attempt to keep myself as poised as possible, as one would expect of a business associate. Because to Cal, that’s all I was to Declan. He’s oblivious to the fact that we were so in love, wanting a life to call our own, and sharing the dream of having a baby together—a baby that once lived in my now rotting womb.
“Life isn’t fair, darling,” he tells me in his thick Scottish accent, and within it, I can hear Declan’s brogue. I drop my head and hold on as tightly as I can to his voice, never wanting to lose it, when Cal’s hand cups my cheek. Looking up into his eyes, his face is blurred from the welling of agony in my eyes. He slowly drags his thumb over my skin and collects my tears as he tilts his head and says, “Funny isn’t it?”
I blink a few times at his curious words before he continues, “Both men . . . murdered in their own homes within days of each other, and police are coming up blank as to who’s responsible.”
His words release a violent chill up my spine, and before I can form a cohesive thought, he kisses my forehead and walks away. I watch his back as the rain falls over him and drop to my knees in the mud. He’s the last one to leave and I’m alone, hands bracing and sinking into the soggy ground, screaming silently, but it’s so loud inside my head.