I should have felt something—shock, sorrow, disbelief—but instead, a strange calm settled over me. It was like watching a play unfold, every piece falling into place exactly as I had predicted. The officer’s words barely touched me. In fact, all I felt was an overwhelming urge to laugh. The irony of it all. William Carter died from his own hand, his grand scheme crumbling beneath him like the wreckage of his car.
As I took a step toward his covered body, ready to lift the sheet and see for myself, a sudden, sharp pain exploded across my cheek. My head snapped to the side from the force of the slap, and there, standing inches away, was Nancy, her face twisted with rage and grief.
"You!" she spat, her voice a venomous hiss. "You have no right to see my son. You killed him! It’s your fault he's dead! Ever since he married you, our family has known nothing but misery. You ruined him—you made him quit his job and turned him into an embarrassing househusband. And that worthless daughter you gave him…" Her voice broke, but her fury was unrelenting. "Now he’s gone, no one left to carry on our family name!"