Its high ceiling turned every murmur into an echo.
A minister spoke of my generosity, my devotion, and my dedication to keeping alive the company my grandfather had founded.
Then Victoria approached the casket.
Her scent drifted through the narrow gap near my face.
She rested one hand on the lid.
“My darling Ethan,” she said, her voice cracking beautifully. “I don’t know how I’ll live without you.”
Clapping would have been out of place, but she’d earned it.
It was the finest performance of her life.
She bent closer.
Her mouth must have been just inches from my ear.
Then, quiet enough that no one else could catch it, she whispered, “Goodbye, Ethan.”
There was no sorrow in it now.
Only relief.
My pulse began hammering.
Surely someone would notice.
Surely the funeral director would see my chest rise and fall.
But the drug had locked me inside my own body. My heartbeat felt violent from within, yet outwardly I must have looked entirely still.
Footsteps drew near.
A man said quietly, “You should step away now, Mrs. Cole. The service has ended.”
Harrison.
Victoria let out another convincing sob.
The guests began filing out.
One by one, the voices thinned away.
The chapel doors shut.
Quiet settled over the room.
Then Victoria’s crying stopped.
“Is everyone gone?” she asked.
“Yes,” Harrison answered.
His tone was even.
Detached.
The same voice he’d used for years while going over my medical charts.
A lock clicked shut.
Then came something worse than their words.
I heard them kiss.
Not a nervous, hurried kiss.
A slow one.
Practiced.
When they finally pulled apart, Victoria let out a satisfied breath.
“It’s done,” she said.
“Not yet,” Harrison said. “It’s done once the cremation finishes.”
Every part of me screamed to move.
Harrison went on, “There can’t be an examination afterward. No second opinion. No questions.”
Victoria drummed her nails against the casket.
“What if the drug fades too early?”
“It won’t.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Harrison sighed. “Even if he becomes aware, he won’t be able to move for hours.”
