One Week Earlier…
The air was thick with the scent of wet earth, mingling with hushed conversations and the steady, mournful rhythm of the rain. Black umbrellas dotted the cemetery like ink droplets on nature's canvas, as if the painter's heart were grieving George Lawson's passing. The once-mighty patriarch of the Lawson family had left a void that seemed impossible to fill.
Marianne stood at the edge of the grave, barely holding herself together. Her estranged husband, Gregory, stood beside her, rigid and distant. Her shoulders shook with quiet sobs as tears slipped down her cheeks, unnoticed in the rain. He didn't speak. He never did when it mattered. George's death hit them both, but for Marianne, it shattered something deeper. He had been her only real ally in the family, the one person who truly saw her. And now, he was gone.
Their bond had been built on mutual respect and quiet understanding—shared chess games, walks, and thoughtful conversations. He had been her confidant, her ally in a family where she was more tolerated than welcomed. Now, even that small shelter was gone.
The rain fell hard and steadily, drumming against the earth like a cruel rhythm. Marianne moved forward, one slow step at a time, the shovel cold and awkward in her hands. Every inch closer to the casket made George's absence feel heavier, more real—like grief had weight, and it was all pressing down on her.
A sharp gust of wind tugged at her umbrella until it tore free from her grip. She let it go without a fight, watching it tumble across the muddy grass before vanishing from her thoughts. The wind shrieked around her, echoing the storm brewing inside. Then, slicing through the rain came her mother-in-law's voice—sharp and cold.
"Serves her right! Why is she taking so long?"
Marianne's grip tightened around the shovel, her knuckles whitening. It took every ounce of strength not to turn and glare. How much more disrespectful could she be? Especially now?
Gregory moved behind her without a word. He bent to retrieve the umbrella, which had fallen, then stepped beside her, lifting it over her head. The rain softened against her now, but she didn't seem to notice. She just stood there, motionless, staring down at the coffin—her grief louder than any storm.
With a deep breath, Marianne thrust the first scoop of soil into the grave. The wet earth landed with a soft, unforgiving thud on the polished wood. One by one, others stepped forward to do the same, while she stood back and watched the ritual unfold. The soil turned to mud in the rain, swallowing the man who had once been her only protector.
"Marianne. It's time."
Gregory's gentle voice broke through her daze, startling her. She turned slightly, surprised to find the cemetery nearly empty—only a few aides and the caretakers remained. He stood beside her now, but simply as someone who understood loss.
"Oh," she murmured, her eyes lingered on the grave. "Do you mind if I stay a bit longer?"
"…Take your time." His voice was softer than she'd heard in years. It carried no bitterness, no impatience, just quiet empathy. She longed to study his face, to see if his features matched the tenderness in his tone. But she couldn't bear to let him see her like this.
As he walked away, she whispered under her breath, "It seems you kept your promise, George. You took it to your grave. I wish you didn't have to. We both hoped for another outcome…"
The words floated into the rain, meant for no one, or so she thought.
Gregory paused mid-step, glancing back at her with a flicker of curiosity. But Marianne, unaware she'd spoken loud enough to reach him, remained fixed on the disappearing coffin—her body still, her heart unraveling in silence.