But it didn’t.
It had already broken beyond repair somewhere between the hospital corridor and the cemetery.
They saw a helpless widow.
They thought I had lost everything.
What they didn’t understand was that Adrian hadn’t just given me his name—he had entrusted me with everything they believed belonged only to them.
I walked forward slowly, ignoring the mud, ignoring their laughter. My shoes sank into the wet ground as I knelt beside a puddle and reached for something half-buried beneath the dirt.
Our wedding album.
The cover was smeared with mud, obscuring Adrian’s smile—the one that had once made everything feel safe. I pulled out a tissue and carefully wiped it clean, my fingers steady despite the rain dripping down my face.
The pain didn’t disappear.
It hardened.
Turned cold.
Turned sharp.
I stood again, holding the album close to my chest, and looked at Victoria.
“You’re right,” I said quietly. “I have nothing.”
Then I turned and walked away.
I didn’t look back.
Not at the house.
Not at the people who had just thrown me out like I meant nothing.
