Page 237 of Remy

He winces. “I understand. I’ll show her the notes he left, and hopefully it will help to ease the situation. It really isn’t wise for close family to handle the preparation of a loved one.”

I scrub a hand down my face.

“I want you to know everything else is in safe hands,” he continues. “John and I have been familiarizing ourselves with the current decedents in the funeral home’s care, and additional staff will be here first thing Monday morning to assist with all ongoing duties until Carlo’s employees feel they’re able to return to work.”

Speaking to a man who has already slipped so easily into Carlo’s shoes feels fucking heartless.

I hate this.

One minute Carlo is here; the next, he’s been replaced.

“Great.” I make for the door, desperate for fresh air. “You’ve got my number if you need it.”

“And you’ve got mine,” Stanley calls as I stride down the hall. “If you have any concerns at all, please reach out.”

My concerns for Carlo are over.

I’d spent months dreading his death, visualizing the unwelcome conversation when he would tell me he’d decided his time was up, and how I’d comfort Ollie when she learned the news. I was meant to be by her side and his when he took his last breath. She was meant to say goodbye.

He stole those moments from us.

He bailed early, like a fucking coward.

I stalk around the building, my ability to breathe getting harder with the increased tightness in my chest. I stop at the back of my car, plant my palms against the trunk, and bow my head as I take in gulps of air.

I didn’t bat an eye when my own father died.

I could get a call right now that my own mother had passed and not give one flying fuck.

But Carlo?

His death has sliced me open and left the vultures to tear at my insides. I’m wrecked. Fucking shattered.

I yank at the top button of my shirt, the restriction making it harder to breathe.

Fuck his promises. His friendship.

He left me.

I ball my hands into fists and squeeze my eyes shut.

He left Ollie.

I choke on my anger. On the suffering.

I can’t believe he did this.

I drag the envelope from my pocket and tear it open, unable to fathom what the hell he could have to say for himself.

What could you possibly have written to explain or excuse your actions?

I yank out the folded piece of plain white cardstock and spread it open.

Forgive me.

xoxo Carlo

The agony beneath my ribs explodes, spreading through my limbs.

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