Witnessing her half-hearted defense, a bitter smile twisted my lips.
Even now.
Bonnie would rather let the world believe our daughter was dead than expose her lover. She would rather let her husband rot under infamy than hand Brandon over to justice.
The bond of a first love ran deep indeed. Her protection of him was absolute, bordering on pathological.
I tried to look away, but the invisible tether of the afterlife dragged me in her wake.
The night deepened. My body was drifting down the dark currents of the river, cold and alone. Yet here, Bonnie noticed nothing amiss. Her world had narrowed to one man.
Worried the night wind might chill him, she ushered him inside.
This was the same Bonnie who would give me the cold shoulder for days if I spoke out of turn. Yet tonight, she knelt before him. Removed his shoes. Took his bag. Prepared a warm foot bath with her own hands.
A level of tenderness I had never received. Not once in my life.
Not even in my death.
They say loving someone is like tending to a garden. Watching them now, I realized how true that was.