“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to commit the body of our son, brother, husband, father, and friend to the earth.”
The priest’s words settled over the crowd like dust, heavy and unavoidable. I stood between my husband and his adopted sister, Rose, my hands folded. Beside me, Rose wore her mourning black like a tailored lie, the dark fabric clinging to the slight, scandalous swell of her belly. Her five-year-old son, William Thornley, stood at her skirts, looking solemn for once, almost as if he knew exactly what was going on.
The casket sat a few feet away, polished and closed.
“May his soul rest in peace,” the priest droned.
Rest. I doubted Ray Thornley would find a second of rest six feet under, not after the way he’d been sent there. Around us, the mourners dabbed their eyes and whispered of "tragedy" and "fate” and “badluck”. No one noticed the way my jaw ached from clenching, or how my nails bit into my palms until the skin nearly broke.
I hadn't been close to my brother-in-law, but I knew he would still be breathing if it weren't for the woman standing to my left.
"Oh!" A jagged wail ripped through the air, shattering the forced silence.
My eyes darted to Rose. She was collapsing, a torrent of performative grief. "If only I knew!" She sobbed, throwing herself toward the damp earth. "If only I’d known!" She cried more, thrashing her hands in the air.
I felt nothing but a cold, hard knot of disgust.
I watched as my husband, Caspian Thornley, maneuvered around me without a second thought. He rushed to Rose’s side, his arms wrapping around her with a frantic, desperate heat. He pulled her head to his chest, shielding her from the stares of the elite.
"It was all my fault," Rose wailed into his expensive suit.
"Yes, it is." The voice was laced with pure venom.
We all turned to see old Lina Adams, mother to Ray. Her face, usually beautiful and serene, was a mask of contempt.
"If you had not force him to take that dangerous air diving where his parachute failed, he would still be alive with us today!" Lina screamed, her finger trembling as she pointed at the widow.
Rose's face was flushed with embarrassment as the guests stared at her. She stood up, her stance suddenly unyielding. She approached the older woman, reaching out to squeeze her hand in a show of 'comfort.'
"You have every right to be mad at me, Mother. But I lost my husband, too. We are both drowning in this."
I couldn't help the sharp snort that escaped me. Anyone else would see a grieving daughter-in-law but I saw a masterclass in manipulation.
"You're right," Lina said, her features deceptively composed. Then, with a sudden burst of strength, she flung Rose’s hand away. "And I am going to be mad at you for the rest of my life!" She slapped her own chest, clutching at her heart as she wailed.
I moved to go to her, but Rose was faster, stepping back into Lina’s space.
"Do not come near me!" Lina yelled. When Rose took another step, the older woman raised her hand, palm flat and ready to strike.
"Rose! No!" Caspian roared.
In a flash, he threw himself in front of Rose, his large frame acting as a human shield. The sound of the slap echoed through the cemetery, sharp and rhythmic.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Murmurs turned into a low roar of scandal. Even Lina froze, her hand shaking as she realized she had struck the wrong person.
"Caspian, what are you doing?" His mother, Mrs. Thornley, hissed from the sidelines, her mouth a thin, disgruntled line.
"No one has the right to touch her," Caspian declared, his voice booming with a protective authority that made my blood run cold. He touched the red mark on his cheek, his eyes fixed solely on Rose.
I stood there, a spectator to my own husband's obsession. To the crowd, this was a shocking display of chivalry - a brother protecting his sister. To me, it was the final confirmation of the secret I’d discovered three days ago.
I had flown from Los Angeles to New York to surprise him for our third anniversary. I’d had it all planned - the restaurant, the gift, the red dress I was "dressed to the teeth" in. I was standing outside his office door, hand on the knob, when I heard his best friend, Mark, speaking inside.
“Why are you still here today, of all days?” Mark had asked.
“What’s special about today?” Caspian’s voice had been flat, annoyed.
“Your anniversary, man.”
Caspian had scoffed, a sound full of bitterness. “I want nothing to do with that woman. You know that.”