THE WIDOW REGISTRY

Chapter 4: Same Day

The room had gone quiet.

Coffee spread across the floor.

Nobody moved.

Adrian Mercer stood frozen, his wallet still open in his hand.

Mara stared at the card he had placed on the table.

Same sentence.

Same plain white paper.

Same strange feeling crawling beneath her skin.

Across the room, several people pretended not to watch.

Eleanor broke the silence first.

"Adrian."

Her voice was calm.

Too calm.

As though she already knew something was wrong.

Adrian swallowed hard.

"I'm sorry."

He grabbed a handful of napkins and crouched to clean the spilled coffee.

Mara noticed his hands.

They were shaking.

Not slightly.

Violently.

She had seen hands like that before.

Funerals.

Hospitals.

Panic.

Without thinking, she bent down beside him and handed him more napkins.

Their fingers brushed.

Adrian pulled back immediately.

"Sorry."

"No, it's okay."

Another awkward silence.

Finally, Eleanor stepped forward.

"Why don't you two use my office?"

Both of them looked up.

"No," Mara said immediately.

"Yes," Adrian answered at the same time.

Their eyes met.

For the first time, Mara noticed how exhausted he looked.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

Like someone who had spent years carrying something too heavy to put down.

Eleanor smiled faintly.

"Office. Now."

Apparently, she wasn't asking.

Ten minutes later, Mara sat across from a complete stranger.

Rain tapped against the office window.

Neither spoke.

Finally, Adrian removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

"My wife died three years ago."

Mara blinked.

"So did my husband."

He nodded slowly.

"I know."

Her body stiffened.

"What?"

Adrian looked startled.

"No—I mean, I know because everyone here shares their stories."

Embarrassment crossed his face.

"That sounded terrible."

Despite everything, Mara almost laughed.

Almost.

"Who was Emily Mercer?" she asked.

His expression changed immediately.

Gentler.

Sadder.

"My wife."

"How long were you married?"

"Twelve years."

Long enough.

Long enough to build a life.

Long enough to imagine growing old together.

Long enough for losing someone to feel impossible.

"What happened?" Mara asked quietly.

Adrian stared at the rain.

"Car accident."

Mara's breath caught.

"Mine too."

His head turned.

Neither spoke.

Neither needed to.

People who survive the same kind of loss learn to recognize certain expressions.

The guilt.

The anger.

The endless questions.

What if I had called?

What if they had left later?

What if I had gone with them?

Adrian looked away first.

"I hated hearing people say it was God's plan."

Mara blinked.

Then she whispered:

"I hated hearing people say he was in a better place."

A small smile touched Adrian's lips.

Not happiness.

Understanding.

"Exactly."

For some reason, that tiny moment hurt more than sympathy ever had.

Because for three years, everyone had tried to comfort her.

This man simply understood.

Then Adrian reached into his wallet again.

This time, he removed a photograph.

A woman with bright eyes stood beside him, laughing at something outside the frame.

Emily.

Mara stared.

Beautiful.

Alive.

Loved.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"So am I."

His voice cracked on the last word.

He quickly looked away.

And Mara pretended not to notice.

Because she understood that too.

Some grief felt unbearable when witnessed.

Then she reached into her purse.

She wasn't sure why.

Perhaps because he had shown her his loss.

Perhaps because she suddenly didn't feel so alone.

She handed him a picture of Daniel.

Adrian studied it.

Then his expression disappeared.

Completely.

Mara's stomach tightened.

"What?"

Adrian looked up slowly.

"That's impossible."

Her pulse began to race.

"What is?"

He placed Emily's photograph beside Daniel's.

Then pointed at the background.

Same restaurant.

Same chandelier.

Same date printed in the corner.

The photographs had been taken on the same night.

Mara stared in disbelief.

No.

No, that couldn't—

Then Adrian whispered the words neither of them wanted to hear.

"Maybe our spouses knew each other."

Before Mara could answer, someone knocked urgently on the office door.

Eleanor entered.

But she no longer looked calm.

For the first time that evening—

she looked frightened.

"Both of you need to leave," she said.

"Right now."

Mara stood.

"Why?"

Eleanor's eyes shifted toward the window.

Toward the parking lot.

And when Mara followed her gaze—

she saw a man standing beside her car.

Watching the building.

Watching them.

And in his hand—

was another white envelope.