013
972 Words
Three months later.
The rain is a relentless, cold deluge, soaking through my black dress and clinging to my skin like a second, icy layer. I stand under a black umbrella, holding the handle so tight my knuckles ache. I don’t know who gave it to me; it was just there, thrust into my hand by a faceless mourner. I haven't moved since they lowered the casket. The wet mud sucks at the heels of my shoes, anchoring me to this spot.
I stare at the fresh mound of earth, waiting for something to break. I wait for the scream to tear from my throat, for the tears to finally come, but there is nothing. Just a hollow, echoing silence in my chest. I never knew what it felt like to be truly alone, to lose the one person who stayed when my mother left. Now I know. It feels like standing in the rain while the rest of the world is dry.
The burial ceremony is over. The mourners have drifted away, their black coats blending into the gray mist. But I remain.
"Anna."
The voice cuts through the sound of the rain. I turn slowly, my movements stiff. Rachel stands there, water dripping from her hair, her eyes red-rimmed. I force my lips to curve upward, a ghost of a smile.
I walk toward her, my legs heavy. When I reach her, she pulls me into a crushing hug. She smells like antiseptic and rain.
"You came," I whisper into her shoulder.
"Of course I came," she says, pulling back to look me in the eye. Her hands grip my shoulders, firm and grounding. "You are such a strong woman, Anna. I don't know how you're holding it together. Most people would have shattered by now."
She kisses the top of my head, her lips warm against my cold, wet hair. I lean into the touch, starved for affection.
Then, she pauses, her brow furrowing as if remembering something. "Oh, Ana. There's someone here to see you. They're waiting by the gate, just outside the burial ground."
I frown. "Who?"
"Go see," she says gently, nudging me toward the path. "I'll wait here."
I turn and walk, the umbrella bobbing with every step. The mud squelches beneath my feet. As I approach the black iron gates, I see a sleek, expensive car idling at the curb, its engine purring low and smooth. Standing next to it is a woman dressed in impeccable black, her coat tailored to perfection, her hair styled in loose waves that defy the humidity.
As I get closer, the woman’s face comes into focus, and my steps falter. Valeria.
She looks like she stepped out of a magazine, untouched by the grief or the grime of the day. She spots me and starts walking closer, her heels clicking on the pavement.
I stop, waiting. When she reaches out to hug me, I step back, dodging her embrace. Her hands hover in the air for a second before dropping to her sides.
Valeria swallows hard, her throat bobbing. "I'm sorry for what happened, Anna."
I stare at her, my expression flat. "Are you?"
"Yes," she says, her voice taking on that practiced, sympathetic tone she uses for strangers. "It's a tragedy. Abel was... he was a good man, in his own way."
The disgust rises in my throat like bile. "Are you done blabbing?" I ask, my voice low and dangerous. "Why are you here, Valeria? You haven't been a mother in years. You don't get to play the grieving widow now."
She flinches, her mask slipping for a fraction of a second before she smooths it over. "I'm here to take you away from this... this dreary place. Look at you. You're thin. You look emaciated, darling. It’s unbecoming."
She gestures to the car, her manicured nails flashing in the gray light. "I have a home in the city. You can come with me. I'll fix you up. Get you a proper stylist, some food that isn't... hospital garbage."
I shake my head, looking at her with pure revulsion. "You think you can buy me? You think a hot meal and a car ride erase the last ten years?"
"Don't take that tone with me," Valeria snaps, her upper lip curling. "I thought Abel taught you better manners than this. Clearly, he failed."
The mention of his name snaps something inside me. I take a step forward, invading her personal space, my hands balling into fists at my sides. "Don't you ever say his name," I hiss. "You don't get to talk about him. You left him. You left us for a man with a thicker wallet. You have no right to even breathe his air."
Valeria scoffs, her eyes narrowing. "You have his temper, that's for sure. Just like your f—" She cuts herself off, stopping the word before it escapes. She takes a breath, switching tactics back to the cool, detached rich woman. "Look, I'm trying to help you. You're acting like a wild animal. Come with me, Anna."
I look at her, really look at her, and see nothing but a hollow shell covered in expensive fabric. "I'd rather rot here in the mud than get in that car with you."
Without another word, I turn on my heel and march toward the yellow taxi waiting down the street. I yank the door open and slide into the backseat, slamming it shut.
Valeria stand beside car. She watches the taxi pull away, then reaches into her designer bag. She pulls out a slender cigarette, lights it with a silver lighter, and takes a long, slow drag. She exhales a plume of smoke into the damp air, a smirk playing on her lips as she turns and slides into the back seat.
- Writer
