Chapter 2
Benedict's voice was barely a whisper now, but a faint, relieved smile spread across his face.
"I can finally go to her," he whispered. "I'm sorry, Olivia. I've kept these words buried way too long."
The last tear slipped from the corner of his eye, and his hand went completely limp in mine.
The heart monitor screamed one long, flat beep.
He was gone.
He died right there in front of me, carrying his love for another woman and all the guilt that came with it.
I just sat there, numb. Not one tear would come.
It felt like some invisible hand had ripped my heart clean out, leaving nothing but a cold, howling emptiness inside.
My sister's death. Forty years of my life. All of it—one big, sick joke.
After the funeral, I drifted back to that empty house like a ghost.
The place I'd lived in for four decades suddenly felt foreign, like the walls were closing in on me.
I walked down to the beach where the ocean had taken my sister.
The icy water lapped over my ankles.
Claire, I missed you so much.
If I could go back, I would never have let you save that monster.
Celia, I was coming to be with you.
Salt water flooded my mouth and nose, and everything went black.
The crash of waves against the rocks roared in my ears.
I fought as hard as I could, but it felt like a giant whirlpool was dragging me down.
Cecilia's face, my parents' faces, Benedict's relieved smile—they all flashed in front of me, one after another.
Regret, anger, bitterness, grief—every feeling churned together like a boiling mess inside my chest.
I hated him.
I hated Benedict for being so selfish and cold-hearted.
But I hated myself even more for being so stupid, so blind for so long.
If I had picked up on the signs sooner, would everything have turned out differently?
The day we got married, he was so calm. He was too calm for someone who had almost died and just lost the person who saved him.
I actually thought he was just grieving too hard.
After the wedding, he was polite but distant.
He was never home for any of the big holidays.
I told myself he was just a workaholic, grinding to provide for us.
Now I see the truth: he simply didn't want to spend a single meaningful moment with the sister of the woman he blamed.
One spring cleaning, I found an old box in his study.
Inside was a beautiful white dress, an elegant hair clip, and a diary full of someone's deepest thoughts.
I thought they were Claire's keepsakes, that he was holding onto them to remember her.
I was actually touched for the longest time, thinking he was such a loyal, sentimental guy.
How could any of that stuff have belonged to my down-to-earth, no-frills sister?
Tucked under everything was a photograph.
The girl in the picture was wearing the white dress, smiling softly, looking fragile and sweet.
Benedict told me she was a junior-high classmate who had passed away young.
And I believed him.
Beatrice Langford. That name should have stuck in my head from the start.
Forty years of marriage, and I'd been completely blind, played like a fool the whole time.
The neighbors all envied me. They said I'd landed the perfect husband—handsome, considerate, never raised his voice at me once.
Of course he never argued.
He didn't see me as a wife. I was just a convenient roommate, an emotional support system and live-in maid. Arguing with me would have taken effort he didn't want to waste.
He fed off my love and care while keeping a shrine in his heart for another woman.
And I was the idiot who kept giving him everything he needed to survive.
Cecilia, I was so sorry.
I was too naive. I was the reason you were gone.
If it hadn't been for my stupid teenage crush, you never would have gone into that water.
You could have had your own happy life—married that guy who adored you, had a house full of kids.
Instead, you drowned saving a lying, heartless bastard.
Pain and regret tore me apart.
If only…
If I could do it all over…
I would never let you go out there.
I swear I wouldn't.
A wave of dizziness hit me, and I blacked out completely.