Chapter 4 - A Quiet Gathering
The memorial service was beautiful, which only made it more agonizing. Ethan’s small white casket was surrounded by arrangements of white lilies and blue hydrangeas. His green stuffed dinosaur, Rexy, sat on top of the casket.
Garrett stood at the podium, his voice cracking beautifully at all the right moments. He spoke of Ethan’s laughter, of his love for space and superheroes. He even managed to squeeze out a few tears as he looked directly at me.
"We will carry his light forward," Garrett said, his hand resting over his heart. "Together, Clara and I will honor his memory by being the people he believed we were."
Sitting in the front row, wearing a black veil that shielded my eyes, I smiled beneath the lace.
After the service, guests gathered at our home for a reception. Among them was Marcus Vance, the senior founding partner of Garrett’s firm—and Cynthia’s uncle. Marcus was an old-school conservative who despised even the slightest hint of scandal.
I watched as Cynthia approached Garrett in the hallway near the study. They thought they were being discreet, standing in the shadow of the staircase.
"Garrett, I’m so sorry," Cynthia murmured, her hand briefly brushing his sleeve. "If there’s anything I can do..."
"Not here, Cynthia," Garrett whispered urgently, his eyes darting toward the living room where I stood. "Clara is fragile. We have to be extremely careful."
"You haven't replied to my messages," she pouted slightly, a masterclass in subtle manipulation. "I miss you."
"Soon," he promised. "Just let me get through the next few weeks. I’ll handle her."
I stepped out from around the corner, holding a tray of empty wine glasses. Cynthia jumped back, her face flushing.
"Clara!" she gasped. "We were just... Garrett was telling me how much he appreciates the firm’s support."
"Yes," I said, offering her a warm, vacant smile. "The firm has been so generous. And you, Cynthia, you’ve been such a close... colleague to my husband. I don't know what he would do without you."
Garrett cleared his throat, a flicker of unease passing through his eyes. "Clara, honey, why don't you go sit down? You’ve been on your feet all day."
"I’m fine, darling," I said, patting his cheek. My hand was freezing cold against his skin. "In fact, I’ve never felt more clear-headed."
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That evening, after the last guest left, Garrett tried to wrap his arms around me in the kitchen. "We're going to make it, Clara. I promise you. We will get through this."
"I know we will," I said, leaning into his embrace just enough to feel the frantic beat of his heart. "I’m going to make sure we both get exactly what we deserve."
