The scent of lilies was too strong—sickly sweet and suffocating. Evelyn Elias stood still, dressed in black, her veil shielding her hollow expression from the curious eyes around her. The church was crowded, but the only sound she truly heard was the whisper of secrets brushing past her like ghosts in the pews.
They were all here for Gregory.
Her husband's casket lay at the front, polished to a gleam, surrounded by more flowers than he would have ever wanted. He hated fuss. "Keep it simple when I go," he used to say. But nothing about this was simple.
Not the way he died.
Not the questions the police still hadn't answered.
Not the way people were looking at her.
"Poor Evelyn," they murmured. "So young, so tragic."
"She must be heartbroken."
"Did you hear about the toxicology report? They're saying—"
"Sshh. Not here."
Evelyn's hands tightened around the prayer book she wasn't reading. Every word spoken around her felt like a needle. She hadn't cried. Not yet. And that unsettled people more than anything. A widow without tears was a story waiting to be written.
She moved mechanically through the service, nodded as people offered condolences, and murmured polite thanks. Her sister, June, hovered nearby like a nervous sparrow, gently nudging her forward when she paused too long.
Outside, the cemetery was soaked with rain. Mud clung to the heels of her black pumps as she stood at the grave's edge. The casket sank slowly into the ground, and Evelyn felt...nothing. Or maybe too much. She couldn't tell anymore. All she saw was Gregory's face in her memory—his easy smile, his quiet laugh, the way he always kissed her forehead at night.
But that was before the last few months. Before everything fell apart.
As the final prayer was said, and the crowd began to drift away under umbrellas and whispered farewells, Evelyn stayed rooted. It was only when June tugged her arm that she finally turned.
"You should rest," June said gently. "You haven't eaten all day."
Evelyn nodded, but her mind was elsewhere. She glanced around the cemetery and noticed a man standing by the gate, watching her. He was tall, in a charcoal coat, his face half-hidden by shadows. He didn't move. Didn't blink.
"Do you know him?" she asked quietly.
June followed her gaze. "Who?"
But when Evelyn turned back, the man was gone. The cemetery seemed emptier without him, but a lingering unease crawled under Evelyn's skin. Who was he?
The house felt colder that evening. Too big. Too silent. Gregory's absence echoed through every room. The walls seemed to close in on her as she moved about, each step heavier than the last. She poured herself a glass of wine but left it untouched on the counter. Her reflection in the kitchen window startled her—she barely recognized the pale, tight-lipped woman staring back.
She wandered into Gregory's study, a place she hadn't entered since the night everything changed. The scent of his cologne still lingered faintly, like a ghost whispering from the past. His desk was neat, as always, but there was an unfamiliar weight in the air. As she reached to switch on the lamp, she noticed something strange—a drawer slightly ajar.
Gregory never left anything out of place.
Curious, she pulled it open. Inside was a small black notebook, tucked beneath an envelope with her name written on it.
Her breath caught.
Hands trembling, she opened the envelope. Inside was a note in Gregory's handwriting:
"If you're reading this, I'm already gone. But you need to know the truth."
She sat down heavily, heart pounding. What truth? What had he kept hidden?
Her fingers hovered over the notebook. A part of her wanted to burn it without reading a word. Another part needed to know. She flipped it open. The first page was dated six months ago.
"I think someone is following me."
Evelyn's blood ran cold.
Her mind raced. Had Gregory been in danger? She had no idea. No warning. He had kept everything to himself in the last few months. The note felt like an accusation—had she missed something? Or had he been hiding the truth from her, even in death?
The wind howled outside, rattling the windows, but inside, the room was eerily silent. Evelyn could hear only the sound of her breathing as she turned the page. Another entry.
"I think it's her."