Chapter 3
Chapter 3 – Holly's Tragedy
The TV glowed in the darkened loft as Nathalie sat cross-legged on her mattress, cup of tea cooling on the nightstand. She wasn’t watching—until Holly’s name cut through the news anchor’s monotone.
“Breaking: Highway crash claims the life of Matthew Whitman, tech entrepreneur and husband of Holly Whitman…”
Nathalie bolted upright.
Onscreen, aerial footage panned across a mangled vehicle on I-87, twisted like ribbon.
“Survived by his wife Holly and their two-year-old daughter, Lisa…”
Her phone buzzed.
Benjamin: “Did you see the news?”
She didn’t answer.
Five seconds later, it rang.
She let it go to voicemail.
---
The funeral made front page headlines.
Holly, clad in black lace and oversized sunglasses, emerged from the church steps. Her hands trembled as she clutched Lisa to her chest. Paparazzi bulbs flashed.
Benjamin was right behind her, palm steadying her back, jaw clenched, eyes red-rimmed.
Nathalie watched the livestream in silence.
When Holly stumbled slightly, Benjamin swooped in and caught her. Lisa cried. Benjamin kissed her forehead.
One reporter shouted: “Mr. Pendleton, will you be supporting the Whitman family?”
Benjamin nodded. “For as long as they need me.”
The comment section exploded:
@citygirl7: “Wow. That’s what a real man looks like.”
@benandhollyfan: “Destiny brought them back together ”
@nathaliewho: “Wait, wasn’t he married?”
@hollyforever: “He married the wrong girl. This is the real love story.”
Nathalie closed the laptop.
She sat in the dark, knees drawn to her chest.
No one mentioned her.
Not one headline.
---
The next day, Marla texted: “Mr. Pendleton took Jim to Holly’s house. Should I prep dinner?”
Nathalie typed, paused, then deleted her reply.
Instead, she drove.
---
At Holly’s cottage in Westchester, the garden gate creaked open under her hand. Laughter filtered through the backyard.
She rounded the corner.
Benjamin sat on the porch swing, Lisa in his lap. Jim ran through the grass in circles while Holly knelt by a sandbox, smiling softly.
“Picture perfect,” Nathalie muttered.
Benjamin spotted her first. He stood, startled. “Nathalie—what are you doing here?”
“I came to pick up Jim.”
Jim ran to her. “Mommy! Look, we made sand pies!”
“That’s great, baby.” She hugged him, eyes never leaving Benjamin.
Holly rose slowly. “Nathalie… I didn’t know you were stopping by.”
“I’m sure you didn’t.” Her gaze dropped to Holly’s bare feet—painted toenails, delicate anklet. Comfortable.
At home.
“You should’ve called,” Benjamin said, voice low.
“I don’t need an appointment to see my son.”
“No one said you did,” he said, evenly.
She smiled thinly. “You just didn’t expect me to still exist.”
Holly stepped forward. “He’s been helping with Lisa. I didn’t—”
“Spare me,” Nathalie cut in. “I watched you on livestream, remember?”
Silence.
Jim tugged her sleeve. “Can Lisa come to our house sometime?”
“We’ll talk about it,” she said, gently steering him away.
As they walked back toward the car, Benjamin followed. “Nathalie, don’t make this something it’s not.”
“I’m not the one making it anything,” she snapped. “You made your choice on national television.”
“It was a funeral.”
“And somehow you managed to turn it into a second honeymoon.”
He flinched.
Nathalie opened the car door. “Enjoy your new family, Benjamin.”
Before he could respond, she slammed the door and drove off.
---
Back in the city, her phone lit up again.
Holly: “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Nathalie stared at the message for a full minute.
Then typed: “You did. But I’m getting used to it.”
---
Three days later, Benjamin came home late.
Nathalie was in the dining room, finalizing sketches for a spring line she no longer had a stake in.
He dropped his keys. “I had to drive Lisa to the pediatrician.”
“She has a mother.”
“She asked for me.”
Nathalie’s pencil paused. “And you never say no to her, do you?”
“I’m trying to help someone grieving.”
“I was grieving for five years. Where was your sympathy then?”
Benjamin walked to the table, picking up her sketchbook. “These are good.”
“They’re mine.”
“I didn’t say they weren’t.”
She stood and snatched it back. “You only notice my work when Holly’s not in the room.”
He hesitated. “Is this jealousy?”
“This is clarity,” she snapped. “You were supposed to be my partner. But every time she calls, you forget I exist.”
“She lost her husband.”
“I lost mine the day he walked out of our marriage and into someone else’s arms.”
He looked down. “We were friends before you came into the picture.”
Nathalie’s laugh was bitter. “You never looked at me the way you look at her. Not even on our wedding day.”
Benjamin looked up sharply. “I married you.”
“You pitied me.”
A long silence stretched between them.
Then Benjamin said, softly, “You don’t think I care about you?”
“I think,” Nathalie said, “you care about the version of me that never asked for more.”
She walked out.
---
Two days later, Jim handed her a drawing from school.
Stick figures. Four of them.
Holly. Benjamin. Lisa. And Jim.
She blinked. “Sweetheart… where’s Mommy in the picture?”
Jim looked confused. “You weren’t at the park that day.”
“Right,” she whispered.
He ran off.
She stared at the drawing long after he was gone.
A counterfeit family portrait.
And she wasn’t in it.
---
That night, Benjamin found her in the studio.
She didn’t look up. “If this is about Jim’s art project, don’t bother.”
“I didn’t put the idea in his head.”
“I know. That’s the worst part.”
He stood awkwardly. “Do you want to talk?”
She closed her sketchbook. “Actually, yes. Let's talk about the fact that my son now thinks I’m a background character.”
“He’s just a kid.”
“He’s absorbing the roles we’ve shown him. You and Holly front and center. Me? The invisible help.”
Benjamin didn’t deny it.
“I’m tired,” she said finally. “Of being the supporting act in my own life.”
He nodded slowly. “I’ll give you space.”
“You already have,” she whispered. “Too much of it.”