Chapter 5 - THE FUNERAL THAT WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN
The memorial service took place six days after Michael pushed me off the mountain.
Not a legally established funeral following identification of my remains.
A memorial.
Michael called it a celebration of my life.
He'd convinced several relatives and friends that the search had little hope of success.
The weather had been terrible.
The ravine was dangerous.
And no one knew I'd already been rescued.
That information was being closely handled as investigators examined the attempted homicide.
My attorney knew.
The police knew.
Damien knew.
But Michael didn't.
I was still recovering in a protected medical facility when the service began.
I watched portions through a secure recording later provided by an investigator.
The room was filled with white lilies.
Of course it was.
Michael stood beneath a framed photograph of me.
Ashley sat in the front row.
She wore black.
Her face was arranged into an expression of solemn concern.
Michael approached the podium.
"My wife was extraordinary."
I stared at the screen.
His voice broke.
"She had the kindest heart."
I felt sick.
He wiped his eyes.
"She loved our family."
I pressed a hand against my stomach.
Our family.
The baby he'd tried to kill along with me.
Then Michael continued.
"I will spend the rest of my life honoring her memory."
Ashley lowered her head.
Several guests cried.
I watched their faces.
My college roommate, Hannah.
My former art-gallery supervisor.
Margaret's elderly neighbor.
People who genuinely believed I was dead.
People whose grief Michael was using as scenery.
I turned away.
Damien sat nearby.
"You don't have to watch."
I swallowed.
"I know."
He remained silent.
I looked back at the screen.
Michael stepped away from the podium.
Ashley stood.
She took his hand.
Not the discreet gesture of an assistant comforting an employer.
An intimate one.
Familiar.
Possessive.
My chest tightened.
I remembered every time I'd asked whether something was happening between them.
Every time Michael laughed.
Every time he called me paranoid.
Every time he said pregnancy was making me emotional.
Now they stood together at the memorial he organized for me.
I had never felt so foolish.
Then Damien's phone rang.
He answered quietly.
Listened.
And looked toward me.
"What?" I asked.
He ended the call.
"Michael met with an estate lawyer this morning."
I stared.
"And?"
"He attempted to initiate a process to claim control over your trust assets."
My hands tightened.
"Already?"
Damien nodded.
"He was told the legal requirements weren't satisfied."
I looked toward the screen.
Michael was embracing guests.
Receiving condolences.
Performing grief.
All while trying to calculate how quickly my death could become money.
I began shaking.
Damien stood.
"Would you like the recording turned off?"
I nodded.
He switched it off.
For several moments, neither spoke.
Then I looked at him.
"I want to tell everyone I'm alive."
He studied me.
"That's your decision."
I swallowed.
"But the investigators—"
"They've asked for time to preserve evidence and assess the risk. Your attorney can explain the options."
I looked down.
I hated waiting.
Hated knowing people were mourning me.
Hated imagining Michael sleeping peacefully while I struggled through pain and nightmares.
Then I felt a small movement beneath my palm.
My daughter.
Still here.
I closed my eyes.
For her, I could be patient.
Not forever.
May you like
But long enough to make sure the next decision was mine.
---
