She passed three hours later.
I called Stephanie. It was a ten-second conversation.
“She’s gone.”
A sharp intake of breath. Then, “I’ll handle the obituary.” Click.
The funeral was scheduled for a Friday. The morning broke gray and weeping, a fine mist coating everything in a sheen of misery. I stood in front of the mirror in the guest room, smoothing down my black dress. It was simple, elegant—nothing like the flashy things Nathan used to make me wear.
Zachary appeared behind me, buttoning his charcoal suit. He looked formidable.
“Ready?” he asked, his eyes meeting mine in the glass.
“No.”
“I’m right here. They can’t hurt you anymore, Rebecca. You’re not the same person you were six years ago.”
Downstairs, Father was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at a cup of cold coffee. He looked frail, his hands trembling slightly. The stress of the last year had aged him a decade.
“Dad?” I touched his shoulder.
He looked up, his eyes rimmed with red. “She always said funerals were for the living. I never understood it until now. I don’t want to go.”
“I know. But we have to.”
The funeral home was packed. Mother had been a pillar of the community, and the room was a sea of black coats and murmuring voices. I stood by the casket, greeting people I hadn’t seen in years.
“You look just like her,” Mrs. Gable, our next-door neighbor, said, clutching my hands. “So strong.”
Then, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The low hum of conversation stopped abruptly, replaced by a ripple of whispers.
I turned toward the entrance.
Stephanie and Nathan had arrived.
They were a spectacle. Stephanie was wearing a black dress that was inappropriate for a funeral—too tight, too short, too Vogue. She wore oversized sunglasses indoors, pushing them up into her hair as she scanned the room. But it was Nathan who shocked me.
He looked… diminished. The Nathan I remembered was a golden boy, vibrant and sharp. This man looked bloated. His skin had a gray, unhealthy pallor, and his suit, though expensive, strained at the buttons. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept in a month.
Father stiffened beside me. I grabbed his elbow. ” steady, Dad.”
They walked toward the front. Stephanie spotted us and made a beeline, her heels clicking loudly on the hardwood floor. Nathan trailed behind her, looking everywhere but at me.
“Rebecca,” Stephanie said. She didn’t hug me. She stood there, assessing me like a rival bidder at an auction. “You look… tired.”
“My mother just died, Stephanie.”
“Right. Of course.” She looked at Father. “Dad.”
Father nodded once, sharply. He didn’t speak.
“We need to talk,” Stephanie said to me, her voice dropping. “Privately. Before the service starts.”
“This isn’t the time,” I said.
“It’s about the estate,” she lied. I knew it was a lie because Father was still alive, and everything went to him. But she grabbed my arm—her nails digging in—and pulled me toward the small family viewing room off the main hall.
I let her. I wanted to get it over with.
We stepped into the small room. It smelled of stale potpourri. Stephanie shut the door and turned to me, dropping the grieving daughter act instantly.
“I saw you staring,” she snapped.
“I wasn’t staring.”
“You were judging. You always judge.” She crossed her arms, the massive diamond on her finger flashing. “You think you’re so superior because you moved away. But look at you. Still single? Still working some mid-level job in the Midwest?”
“I’m actually a Vice President,” I said calmly. “And I live in Chicago.”
“Whatever. It’s sad, Rebecca. Nathan and I… we’re building an empire. We just bought a summer house in the Hamptons. Eight bedrooms. We’re talking about a baby. Nathan’s company just acquired two more startups.”
She was manic. Her words were coming too fast, too loud. She was trying to convince herself, not me.
“Are you happy, Stephanie?” I asked quietly.
The question seemed to short-circuit her rant. She blinked. “Of course I’m happy! I won!”
“It wasn’t a competition.”
“It was always a competition!” she hissed. “And I got the prize. I got the money. I got the man.”
The door opened.
“Rebecca?” Zachary’s voice was deep, filling the small space. He stepped inside, filling the doorway. He looked from Stephanie’s flushed face to mine. “Is everything okay?”
Stephanie frowned. “Who is this? The driver?”
I smiled. It was the first genuine smile I had felt in weeks.
“Stephanie,” I said, “I’d like you to meet my husband.”
Stephanie’s jaw actually dropped. “Husband?”