He Loved Me After I Turned to Ash

I killed myself because I couldn't survive another day inside Adrian Vale's hatred. 

At the funeral home, he took my urn, smiled and said I didn't deserve a grave, or a headstone, or a single person standing over me pretending I'd been worth something. 

Then he opened his hand and let me fall. He walked through my ashes without looking back. 

Less than a week later, the same man would return to that funeral home in tears and demand that they give me back.

I died in the bathtub on December twenty-ninth.

I waited until Adrian left the bedroom, locked the bathroom door, and cut my wrist beneath the water. By the time his assistant came back for a forgotten contract, the bath had gone dark red and I had already stopped hurting.

It wasn't the first time I'd bled in that tub.

The first time, I'd just learned why Adrian had married me. I had been seven weeks pregnant. I fell, lost the baby, and came home from the hospital to find my husband sitting on our sofa with the private investigator's report in his hand.

That was the night he stopped pretending to love me.

One year later, death finally stopped him from touching me.

It did not stop him from hating me.

The funeral home moved quickly.

My body was discovered before dawn. The medical examiner signed off by late morning, the funeral home called Adrian before lunch, and Adrian paid to have everything rushed. By midnight, I was a small black urn.

Perhaps my family should have objected. Perhaps someone should have demanded an autopsy or at least more time.

But Adrian controlled the house, the phones, and nearly every account connected to my name. He told everyone I had been ill for years and had left clear instructions. Grief made my father slow. Shock made my brother violent. By the time either of them understood what Adrian had done, there was nothing left of me but ash.

I stood beside the funeral director when he handed Adrian the urn.

Adrian held it in both hands.

For one stupid second, I remembered those same hands around my waist before our wedding. I remembered them covering mine while he taught me how to hold a golf club, brushing flour from my cheek when I tried to bake, resting over my heart when he thought I was asleep.

Back then, I thought he liked the sound of my heartbeat.

Later, I learned he had been listening to Lila Moore's heart inside my chest.

"You're finally dead," he said.

His voice was almost gentle.

Then he smiled.

It was the only smile I saw from him that day.

The front doors opened behind us.

"Where's my sister?"

My brother, Daniel, crossed the lobby before the security guards could stop him. His fist caught Adrian across the mouth. Adrian staggered one step, then turned back with blood on his lip and no surprise in his eyes.

He had expected someone from my family to come.

Maybe he had wanted it.

Two guards dragged Daniel away before he could swing again.

"Give her to me!" Daniel shouted. His suit was wrinkled, his hair uncombed. I had never seen my brother look anything less than perfect. He had spent his whole life acting as if calm competence could protect everyone he loved.

It hadn't protected me.

"Your sister is right here." Adrian tapped the lid of the urn.

Daniel went still.

Adrian stepped closer and leaned in until he and Daniel were almost nose to nose.

"She was trash when she was alive," Adrian said. "Being dead doesn't change that."

He tipped the urn.

I heard Daniel scream before I understood what I was seeing.

Ash spilled across the marble threshold. A gray cloud lifted into the winter air. Some of it caught in the shrubs outside. Some scattered down the front steps. The wind carried the lightest pieces toward the wooded hill behind the building.

My brother tore free of one guard and dropped to the floor, trying to gather me with his bare hands.

"No. No, Evelyn—"

His palms only spread the ashes farther.

I had known Adrian hated me. I had known it for a year.

I still cried.

I had loved him with everything I had. I had given him every soft part of me, and this was what he did once there was no body left to punish.

Adrian stepped over the mess. Ash clung to the polished leather of his shoes.

"You people loved her so much," he said to Daniel. "Maybe the rest of the Harts should join her."

My brother looked up at him through tears. "You will regret this."

"Never."

When he walked away, something pulled me after him. Maybe it was because he'd been the last thing I thought about before I died.

I tried to stay with Daniel. I couldn't.

The distance between Adrian and me stretched to three feet, and pain ripped through what remained of my soul. I snapped back to his side as if tied to him by an invisible cord.

Even dead, I still wasn't free of my husband.