AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter One
Andi
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
I simply nod because that is about the only reaction I can muster at this point. And honestly, what is one supposed to say when someone is apologizing for the death of your husband?
It’s okay?No, it most certainly is not okay.
Thank you?For what? For showing simple human decency?
He’s in a better place now?Maybe. But that brings up a whole religious issue that I just don’t have the strength to get into right now.
What I really want to say to some of these people is, “You barely knew him, and you’ve never even spoken to me. Why are you here?”
But I don’t. Instead, I bite my tongue and walk around as the dutiful wife, shaking hands and accepting everyone’s condolences.
When I finally break free of the crowd, I walk up to the casket. When people see me coming, they scatter—instead, opting to wait off to the side of the room. Their eyes bore into me, and I’m wondering what they’re expecting. Are they waiting for me to throw myself over the coffin and openly weep? If so, they’ll be waiting a while.
The past ten days have been filled with tears as I recounted my life with the man I loved. For over ten years, I was in love with this man. We started as best friends, became high school sweethearts, and then eventually got married.
I wouldn’t say our marriage was perfect. After all, what marriage is? And the past couple of years have been increasingly difficult.
But that doesn’t mean that I don’t miss the man who was my best friend. My whole life was entwined with his in a way that I’m not entirely sure how to unravel from it all.
Michael.
I look down at him as he lies in the casket. He has dark hair, which they have slicked back from his face. His eyes are closed, yet I can still picture his bright green eyes perfectly. Even though he’s tall, his thin frame looks small inside the large wooden box.
Reaching out my hand, I lay it on top of his. It’s so cold that I almost yank it back, instinctively. Instead, I keep it there, trying to remember what it felt like when it was warm and holding mine.
Damn, I can’t remember the last time he and I just held hands. In fact, I can’t remember the last time we did a lot of things. He was out of town so much for work that there wasn’t time for most of what we used to do.
And now, we will never get the chance.
A single silent tear falls down my cheek, and I’m quick to wipe it away. I don’t need anybody else rushing to me asking how I’m doing.
But as I turn away from the casket, I see most people are gathering toward the back of the room. As I walk closer, I notice that they are all surrounding a woman. She has bleach blonde hair and a tall, toned physique that she is showing off in a dress that I sure as hell wouldn’t wear to a funeral. Her eyes are red and puffy, and she lets out tiny sobs as she speaks.
Who the hell is this?
My heartbeat quickens as I continue to move closer. I can’t hear what the woman is saying, but as I push past the people crowded around, I see her kneel and hug a small boy.
The child wraps his arms around the woman’s neck, and I assume she’s his mother. When she finally releases their embrace, someone asks the little boy what his name is.
The mother opens her mouth to speak for her son, but when I see the boy’s face, I already know what she’s about to say. He and I make eye contact, and I see that he has a head of dark hair and bright green eyes. I’ve only seen eyes like that in one other place.
Bile rises in my throat as I brace myself for what’s coming.
When the woman finally speaks, she says, “His name is Michael, but we call him Mikey. He’s named after his father.”
I want to call her on her bullshit, but as I stare at the boy, I know there is no denying that this is Michael Nicholson’s son. My dead husband has a son that I knew nothing about.
My mind races a million miles a minute, trying to put two and two together. But at this moment, two plus two is adding up to seventeen. Maybe Michael had an affair and made a mistake a long time ago. The boy looks about four. Maybe he didn’t know about him. Maybe he knew and walked away.
But all of my questions are answered when the woman pulls out a photo and holds it up. “This is us just two weeks ago. We had family photos taken at an orchard near our house.”
Two weeks ago? That would have been right before he died.
