Chapter 3

"Claire, where the hell are you?" Ethan's voice was laced with anger.

"Outside," I replied.

"I had someone check your bank records. You sold the gifts I gave you on an online resale marketplace? Are you so broke you've lost your mind?"

I glanced at the urn cradled in my arms. "Yeah, I need money. Badly."

He scoffed on the other end of the line. "Like I said, just come back and apologize, and I'll have seven million dollars in your account immediately."

"Forget it."

"Claire!" Ethan's voice rose sharply. "I gave you a way out yesterday, and now you're really going to push things to the limit?"

"Ethan, let's get a divorce."

The line went dead for a moment.

Ten seconds ticked by before Ethan finally spoke again. His voice was dripping with sarcasm. "So, what are you scheming now?

"Your dad's company is still counting on you to bail them out. What do you even have to bargain with for a divorce?"

I didn't say a word.

Ethan seemed to believe he had my weakness in his hands. "There's a charity gala tomorrow night. Get ready to come with me.

"And don't show up in those dull, depressing outfits. If you do well tomorrow night, I might transfer two million to you upfront."

Before I could respond, he hung up.

I gazed at my dad's photo.

He had such a gentle, kind smile.

This picture was taken five years ago.

Back then, when Ethan came to my house to propose, my dad took his hand and asked him to take care of me.

He said to my dad, "Don't worry, Mr. Bennett. I'll always protect her. She'll never get hurt."

I looked down at the wedding ring on my ring finger and slipped it off.

*****

The next day, I stayed in the funeral hall for most of the day.

At five in the afternoon, Ryan Harper called. "Claire, where are you?"

"I'm not going," I replied.

"Claire, stop messing around."

"Isn't Emily with him? Then let her attend the gala."

Ryan cleared his throat awkwardly. "Claire, did you catch wind of something?

"He's simply trying to make you back down."

He paused, then lowered his voice. "Ethan said if you keep acting like this, he'll refuse to support your father's company."

My vision blurred with tears, and they dropped onto my dad's photo, sliding down my cheeks. "Ryan, tell him I don't have time for this."

I hung up on him.

I wiped away my tears, stood up, and kissed the photo.

The funeral was tomorrow, and I needed to confirm the burial plot I had booked yesterday.

It was drizzling that morning.

The cemetery was in Westbrook.

I stood alone under my umbrella, watching the staff lower the urn into the grave.

I thought I'd cry, but my eyes only felt dry and swollen, and no tears came.

I placed a bouquet of white lilies in front of the tombstone. "Dad, see you next time."

The rain had blurred the photo on the tombstone. I reached out to wipe it, but my fingertips were icy cold. I'd never feel the warmth of his hand again.

Many years ago, on a rainy day much like this one, I came down with a high fever, and my dad carried me to the hospital. Ethan walked beside us, angling the umbrella over me to keep me dry while his own shoulder got soaked.

But now, on another rainy day, the one who once said he would always stay by my side wasn't here with me.

By the time I got back downtown, it was already noon.

My black coat felt weighed down by the rain, and the cuffs were stained with mud from the cemetery.

I caught my reflection in the car window.

I looked as pale as a sheet.

I raised my hand to wipe the corner of my lips, only to realize I had started crying without noticing.