A broken code of Promise

Back from the Past

Cassie’s POV

My phone rang incessantly, but I didn’t answer. I had told everyone I was waiting for the tailor to bring my dress before heading to the funeral, yet my in-laws treated me like I was responsible for their son’s death. If I had been that kind of person, I would have ended it the day he agreed to marry me and saved myself from him. But Linx was dead now, and I had to play the part of the grieving widow.

When the tailor arrived, I quickly fitted my long black dress and gloves. I admired myself in the mirror—perfectly dressed as a widow. My daughter, Cathy, was also in black. Despite the calls from my in-laws, I grabbed Cathy’s hand and rushed to the car.

As soon as we got in, Mathew called. I looked at the time—we had only ten minutes to reach the hall before the funeral. I ignored the call and pressed the accelerator. Traffic lights and honking cars didn’t matter; we had to be on time.

“Mommy, why are you speeding like this?” Cathy asked, concern on her young face.

“We’re late, my princess. Your Uncle Linx will be angry at us,” I said without looking at her.

Cathy froze, then asked, “How will Uncle Linx be angry? He’s dead…”

I hadn’t realized she knew. Perhaps she overheard me talking on the phone.

“Well, tighten your seatbelt,” I instructed, focusing back on the road. She obeyed.

Then she asked, “Mommy, who’s Jaxon?”

Her question made me forget the steering wheel for a moment. Where could she have heard that name? She said I’d been sleep-talking it. I could hardly believe it.

Suddenly, Cathy screamed for me to look ahead. I braked, but it was too late. The accident was unavoidable. I hit a man. My heart stopped. I ran out, expecting the worst. The man coughed and tried to rise. Relief flooded me—then froze me. It was Jaxon.

Our eyes met, years of memories and pain crashing between us. His breath hitched; his hands trembled. No words were spoken.

“Mommy, we should get going. I don’t want people to be angry at you,” Cathy said, holding my hand.

I snapped back to reality and got us moving. Cars honked behind us, but before I could accelerate, Jaxon stopped me. He asked if I was going to the funeral. I stayed silent and opened the passenger door for him. He got in, and I pressed the accelerator.

The engine hummed; tires whispered on the road. Silence stretched between us. I glanced at Cathy, who had just been asking about Jaxon, only to see him sitting right there. My mind couldn’t process it all.

By the time we reached the hall, we were already late. Cathy and I got out, leaving Jaxon in the car. It would have been suspicious to enter together—people would have assumed I was late because of him.

Inside the hall, I realized I’d left my hat in the car. There was no time to go back, and with all eyes on me, I couldn’t send Cathy outside either. Mathew noticed. He whispered about the hat, but I ignored him, determined to go to the podium without it. My mind forced me to forget my African custom of covering my head before elders.

Tears found their way down my cheeks. Mathew wiped them, thinking my grief was for Linx, but it wasn’t. The pain Jaxon had caused ten years ago had resurfaced. I had buried it, but now it clawed its way out.

The priest called me forward. I trudged to the podium, head uncovered, words lost in my mind. Linx and I hadn’t been a happy couple—we were separated, still yet to file for divorce.

Then, Jaxon entered the hall. Shock rippled through the room. People rose to their feet; no one believed he was alive. He held my hat. Mathew moved to grab him, but I stopped him. Jaxon didn’t resist; he simply stood, eyes fixed on me. Mathew stepped aside.

He approached and placed the hat on my head. I felt like a statue, heavy-footed, unsure what to do. Whispers filled the hall, growing louder, crushing me. My emotions surged. Without thinking, I sent a crushing slap across his face, the sound echoing through the room, silencing everyone.

Then I ran out. Mary followed but I told her I needed space. She returned to the hall.