I pressed a hand against the gravestone to steady myself. My father had been lucid. Clear. He wasn’t a man who panicked easily. If he told Emma he was scared, he meant it.
“Melissa,” Emma whispered, “he left something for you.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small sealed envelope. My father’s handwriting was on the front.
My fingers shook as I took it.
Before I could open it, headlights swept across the cemetery entrance. A car rolled in—slow, deliberate.
Emma’s eyes widened. “We have to go. Now.”
The car stopped not far from us. The driver’s door opened.
Andrew stepped out.
My grieving, cheating husband.
He didn’t look surprised to see me.
He looked furious.
And in that instant, I understood he wasn’t only selfish—
He was tied to whatever my father had been trying to warn me about.
Andrew strode toward us with that confident, careless gait I used to mistake for strength. Tonight, it felt like a predator’s calm. His jaw was tight as he approached, fists clenched, eyes blazing with a kind of intensity I’d never seen.
“What are you doing here, Melissa?” he demanded.
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” I said.
His gaze slid to Emma. “Why is she with you?”