Page 6 of Emily’s Moments (Shorts #3)

Emily’s POV

It was finally the day of the funeral. The day I had to bury my husband.

I had to bury the man I loved and wanted to spend the rest of my days with.

He promised an eternity, and I could only hope that I would meet him in the next life.

I wanted to meet him soon so I could love him longer.

Atlas had worked with me to get all of the details of his funeral perfect.

I smoothed down my dress, dabbing my swollen eyes as I thought about it.

It looked much different from the first funeral I went to. That one was a shit show.

*Flashback*

As I was sobbing in the front row of the church, people kept coming up to me, telling me how sorry they were for my loss.

Our friends and colleagues, classmates. His family was there.

Mine, they never showed. For anything to do with me, so it wasn’t a surprise they didn’t show when I actually needed family in my corner.

I had always known that if something were to happen to Alex, I would be utterly alone in the world.

The pastor called me up to the front to talk about my husband.

To say a few final words to my husband and those who had gathered to remember him.

As I was about to finish speaking, I leaned down to the closed casket to whisper to him that I would miss him, when a woman stood up in the middle of the church.

She looked to be around my age with a young baby in her arms and a visibly pregnant belly under her black dress.

She had tears streaming down her face, and she downright looked pissed.

She glared at me before loudly shouting at me.

“He didn’t even love you anymore!” Her chest was heaving, the baby starting to fuss, “He hasn’t loved you for the last three years! We were expecting another baby! We just found out it was another boy! Why couldn’t you let him go?!”

Murmurs were going around, and from what I could make out, no one had any idea who this woman was. His mother stood up, walking over to her.

“What proof do you have?” She demanded. I was frozen on the spot.

The woman pulled out a photo album, a birth certificate, a marriage license application, and divorce papers from the bag on the seat next to her.

My eyes searched for our lawyer, who looked confused at who this woman could possibly be.

“I’m Abigail Grace. We were together for almost four years. Madly in love the whole time.” She stated the facts, head held high, like she had every right to stand in my husband’s funeral and make these declarations.

I had no idea who this woman was. I slowly, with shaky steps, made my way to look at the proof she had brought.

There were even DNA reports to prove they were his; the babies were Alex’s.

Looking at the little boy in her arms, he looked just like Alex’s baby photos.

I felt like a zombie. I was moving, but I felt nothing aside from the hammering of my heart in my chest. It felt like it was gearing up to stop.

My husband has a whole second family I didn’t even know about.

She knew about me? She knew we were together, and still carried on with a married man?

How did she think it was acceptable to have a child with a married man, let alone two?

What the hell?! My emotions were all over the place.

I was mad and sad; I didn’t know what I was.

The information was too much for my already fragile emotional state.

I took two steps away from that woman and promptly fainted.

Raven and Stormi helped me pick out pictures for the picture boards the grandkids wanted to make for Jefferson, all thoughts of the awful funeral for Alex out of my mind.

We had pictures from all the years we were together.

We made a total of seven photo boards. One board of him and the girls with their husbands.

Two boards with pictures of all the grandkids and Jefferson.

Two boards with all of us on them, one with him growing up.

The final, and biggest board, because the kids and grandkids insisted on it, was filled with pictures of the two of us throughout our relationship.

Our wedding photo was set to the right of his urn, and a large photo of him was to the left.

There was a stool next to the urn for me to sit on.

We were all dressed in black. The boys are all wearing little black trousers, with black button-downs, and black shades.

The girls are all in black dresses with black tights and shoes.

My daughters were right next to me. Both of them were in black, knee-length dresses, with their hair pulled back.

My sons-in-law are wearing all black, and Beckam was wearing his cut.

The entire MC was here today with all of our friends we made after moving here, our friends from North Carolina.

Even some of my former employees who congratulated us on our wedding on social media had sent flowers.

One had a tree planted for him. All of Jefferson’s former colleagues came or sent flowers.

He had so many people coming in to say goodbye to him that the line seemed never-ending.

I had asked the crematorium if we could have some of his ashes separated into smaller bags.

I had taken those small bags to one of the specialty shops in town.

I asked if they’d be able to be made into jewelry and if there was any way to be able to have them ready for today.

I had ordered six black stainless steel cremation bracelets for my grandsons.

To keep a bit of ‘Grandpa J’ with them. His name and birthday were on the ends of the bracelet.

For Raven and Stormi, I picked out two rectangular necklaces that I had engraved with “Dad” on Raven’s necklace.

And I had “Papa Jeff” on Stormi’s. I also had “I love you” in his handwriting written on both of them.

For myself, I had a horizontal necklace made with his nickname engraved on the front, and ‘I love you, Sugar’ in his handwriting on the back, so it was always pressed to my chest. I made sure that whatever remaining ashes were left would be able to be stored inside each piece.

I handed out the jewelry to my family as they came in.

I gave the girls the little kids’ pieces and gave them to give to the older kids when they came up to me.

I told the girls that if their husbands, or Atlas or Parker, wanted one, there were still enough ashes put aside that they could have jewelry made for themselves.

Plus, I had a few ideas about what I wanted to do with his ashes.

Ryder sobbed when I gave him his bracelet, and he immediately asked me to help him put it on.

Stormi was directing everyone to leave a fun or funny story, or something we wouldn’t know about Jefferson, and drop it in the jar she had set out on one table.

She was planning to make a book for us out of all the stories we got from everyone.

After three hours, giving time for anyone who just wanted to come for the calling hours, the service started.

It was beautiful. The girls both got up and spoke about Jefferson.

They brought tears to my eyes with their stories.

Ryder was the next one who stood up there.

He told us stories of Jefferson, of looking up to him as a role model before he became his grandfather.

He shared with us all that his grandfather and dad have inspired him to major in law with a minor in computer science, so he could continue to help people, just like they did and do.

Prez got up there next, talking about how Jefferson was family, even if he didn’t get to officially prospect.

Then, he pulled out the black box that we had seen many prospects get.

I opened it and started sobbing. Inside was a cut, with ‘Judge’ written on the front, and the back of it had the club’s name, Satan’s Sinners.

Tears spilled from my eyes. He would have loved this!

I clutched it to my chest, sobbing as I walked up to the casket, laying it across the top of it.

I couldn’t seem to stop. I swear, every time I thought I had no more tears to cry, they flowed like a river, ready to prove me wrong. Everyone was so kind and thoughtful.

Prez waited next to me until I was able to stand from his casket.

He helped me walk to the podium. It was my turn to stand up there.

I told everyone how Jefferson and I met.

How we tried to ignore each other. I told them about our first kiss and our pledge to keep quiet until we retired.

About our wedding, our girls, and all the grandkids.

All the vacations we’ve been on. I told them of the love we shared.

The dreams we had. I told them what kind of man he was and asked them to live a little like Jefferson.

Loving and helping people, caring for their families like they were the single most precious thing in this life, because they were.

Jefferson cherished all of us, and until they knew what being cherished felt like, they hadn’t known the kind of love we shared.

Looking around, tears not stopping, the more I talked, there wasn’t a dry eye in the whole place.

Everyone looked like they were willing to accept what he would have asked of each of them.

“Stars” played as everyone was leaving, and we were making our way to the exit to head to the cemetery.

We shook hands with everyone, said our goodbyes, and thanked them for coming, some promising to head to the cemetery where his urn was being buried next to where mine would go.

“So we don’t ever accidentally get separated. I can’t be away from you, Sugar.”

After everyone left, we took Jefferson to the cemetery and buried him.

I kept my tiny bit of his ashes and went home.

I set him on the fireplace. And when I went to bed, I set him on his bedside table.

I wasn’t sure if it was normal or healthy, but I felt like he was closer somehow.

I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to navigate this life without him.

He’d been mine for thirteen years. Now I was alone.

How do I do this?