Her words were like daggers, but I stood there, unmoved. The slap still stung, but it paled in comparison to the satisfaction bubbling beneath my surface. I didn’t flinch, didn’t react. I just watched them cling to their pathetic performance.
Thomas, frail and broken, staggered to his feet. His face was pale, the lines of age deepened by his sorrow, but his voice was firm as he glared at me. "Get out," he said, each word dripping with disdain. "You don’t belong here. You never did."
Evelyn's POV
Their reactions mirrored exactly what I remembered. Thomas and Nancy—the grieving parents, the mourners for a son who wasn’t really dead. Back then, they played their part so well, threatening suicide and guilt-tripping me to leave so William could quietly slip away from the crematorium. They thought they could manipulate me again, but this time, I knew better. I wouldn’t be their pawn.
I knelt beside them, hiding my smirk. “Mom, Dad,” I said, my voice heavy with faux sorrow, “I’m heartbroken too. If hitting me helps, then please—beat me to death. But as William’s lawful wife, it is my right to send him off on his final journey. No one can take that from me.”