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Chapter Twenty-Five

KAT

One Week Later

My shoulders slump while my hands are tightly clasped in front of me. My face is streaked with tears, and my eyes are red and swollen from crying. The minister's voice fades into the background as I focus on Oliver's mahogany casket adorned with a vibrant spray of red roses. My eyes trace the intricate carvings on the wood, but my mind is blank. The world around me feels distant and consumed by grief.

I scan the cemetery, staring at the people who attended my husband’s funeral. That’s when I notice her—a lanky, tall woman with long auburn hair in the back row, dressed in all black—a woman I’ve never seen before.

The funeral ends, and friends offer their condolences. But my eyes are more interested in the woman sitting in the back row. She stands up and begins to walk away. I run after her.

“Excuse me!” I shout .

She stops and turns around, her eyes swollen and red. She grips her coat and tightens it around her.

“Did you know my husband?” I ask, not knowing if I want to hear her answer.

“Uh, yeah.” Her voice trembles slightly, and her hands fidget nervously. Her eyes dart around the area, avoiding direct eye contact with me. "He was my mentor at the firm," she explained with uncertainty in her tone, unsure how much to reveal about their relationship.

“So, you worked with him?”

“Briefly. As I said, he was my mentor. I work out of the Chicago offices.”

I cock my head. “I wouldn’t say you worked with him briefly then. He traveled to the Chicago offices every other week.”

“I know. But we didn’t work together. Anyway, I’m sorry for your loss.” She scurries away.

“Who was that?” Samantha walks over and places her arm around me.

“I believe that was the woman my husband was having an affair with.”

She stares at me in disbelief. “You do think he was cheating on you?”

“I didn’t until now.” I walk away.

I see Detective Walker standing by a tree with her arms folded. So, I walk over to her.

“Detective Walker.” I nod.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Tate.”

“You can call me Katherine,” I say.

“I wanted to let you know we’re finished at your house. You can go back there when you’re ready.”

“Did you find anything?”

“No. Unfortunately, we didn’t. But we’ll get the son-of-a-bitch who did this. I promise.”

“I appreciate it. Thank you for coming.”

Two Days Later

With trembling hands, I insert the key into the new lock and slowly open the front door. My heart races as I step inside, cautiously scanning my surroundings. But my eyes are immediately drawn to the large crimson stain on the foyer floor where my beloved husband had laid. Tears swell in my eyes as I struggle to process the sight before me, unable to believe this is my reality.

I set my bag down. First, I go to the utility closet, grab a bucket, and fill it with soapy warm water. I grab a sponge from underneath the cabinet and take it with the bucket to the foyer. Getting down on my hands and knees, I begin to scrub. After an hour, the floor is clean. I take my bag upstairs, set it on the bed, and stare at the side of the bed where Oliver used to sleep. My legs feel like they’re going to give, so I sit on the edge of the bed and cup my face in my hands.

I honestly thought the next time I’d have to grieve my husband’s death, I would be at least pushing ninety. But here I was, facing the unimaginable loss while still in my prime.

It felt like the world had been ripped out from under me, leaving me unsteady and lost. The thought of carrying on without him by my side is suffocating as I try to wrap my head around this new reality. It is a cruel twist of fate and the second time I grieve the loss of a husband. I need answers, and I’m getting them one way or another.