I reached into my bag and pulled out the photos from Lyra’s funeral. My hands were shaking as I held them up, the images flashing in the light.
“Here!” I said, throwing them at him. The pictures scattered across the floor, images of the casket, of me standing alone by her grave, of Lyra's tiny, fragile body surrounded by flowers.
Kelvin’s eyes widened as he looked down at them, his expression faltering. “What…?”
“Proof, right?” My voice was sharp, biting. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Proof that she’s gone? There it is. Look at it, Kelvin. Look at what you missed.”
He didn’t say anything, just stared at the photos in shock. For once, Patricia was silent, her face pale.
“I buried her alone,” I continued, my voice hard. “While you were having the best time of your life with your mistress!” I shot a look at Patricia, who had the decency to flinch. “You didn’t care enough to come back, and now you’re standing here, accusing me of doing something to her?! Wow.”
Kelvin looked away, “Lucille, I… I didn’t know.”
“Of course, you didn’t,” I said, my tone softening, but only a bit. “Because you didn’t want to know. Because you’d rather believe her lies than face the truth.”