Page 50 of Her Last Secret

Shock coursed through Rachel, her mind struggling to reconcile the information. And just like that, she sympathized with him. A tumor—an intruder to the body, a complete redirect to whatever life he’d planned. And, just maybe, it had been the direct cause of his skewed perception of the murders he’d seen on the stage—murders he apparently viewed as authentic rather than acted out for a play.

"And he’s refusing surgery," Jack added quietly.

Rachel turned away, her gaze settling on the window where morning light streamed through, casting long shadows across the floor. Theo's choices, Carson's fight for life, Natalie's unseen wounds – it all converged into a stark reminder of mortality's relentless march. It reminded her of her own headaches—the small one that had kept sneaking around in her skull during the Theo Barnes case.

"Jack," she started, her voice barely above a whisper, "I've been having the headaches again. They’re pretty small, but…but they’re there." Her admission hung between them, heavy and foreboding. She had kept them to herself, little throbs of pain that she attributed to stress or lack of sleep. She supposed they could call her specialists when they got home to see what it might mean, if those last rounds of experimental treatments in Seattle had ultimately failed.

“Rachel, you—”

“The denial…it was too strong. I couldn’t face the prospect of dying, knowing that we were about to get married, to be a family.” Tears trailed down her cheeks. Speaking it out loud was somehow just as bad as the possibility itself. “I’m sorry.”

Jack only smiled—a kind, reassuring curl of his lips that didn't reach his eyes. He shook his head, dismissing her worry before it could root deeper in her conscience. "We can talk about that later. Not right now, okay?. I just…I think everything is going to work out in the end, you know?"

She nodded, though she knew no such thing.

That peculiar comment lingered between them, suspended in the sterile air of the hospital room. The soft beep of monitors provided a steady backdrop to the puzzle of Jack’s surprisingly naïve hope. Outside, the sky was a pale wash of blue, a new day having dawned and chased away the night and all its terrors.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

The mirror reflected a woman Rachel barely recognized. Sheathed in ivory lace, the wedding dress draped over her like a prophecy fulfilled, its intricate patterns hugging her form with an almost supernatural grace. Grandma Tate’s taste had been impeccable; even now, Rachel could hear her saying, “Just let me pick the damned thing out; you know you’ve always hated dresses.”

So that’s what they’d done. A mere twelve days before Grandma Tate had died, she’d gone out to choose this very dress.

“God, I wish you were here, Grandma.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Rachel’s mouth, though it wavered as her gaze dropped to the bandage swathing her arm—a reminder of the tendon repair that followed her fight with Alice twelve days ago.

"Matches the dress," she murmured, the joke hollow in the quiet room, the laughter not quite reaching her eyes. The bandaging was a testament of sorts—not to victimhood, but to survival, to the fight that had brought her here, to this precipice of joy and solemn vows.

A knock rapped sharply against the door, punctuating the stillness. Rachel turned from her reflection as the door eased open, revealing Paige in miniature elegance. Her daughter's dress, festooned with ribbons and soft frills, made her look a bit older, a little more refined than usual. Her hair had been done up in elegant curls, and she wasn't sure she'd ever seen her daughter more beautiful.

"The pastor guy says it's time," Paige announced, her voice carrying the gravity of her role in this intimate ceremony.

Rachel drew in a breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle upon her shoulders. It was time to step forward, to embrace the future she'd fought tooth and nail to secure. The tears that welled in her eyes were a cocktail of sorrow for what had passed, and gratitude for the presence that stood before her—a young girl who had become her beacon through the darkest times.

“Hey, Mom? Can I…can I say something?”

“Of course.” She walked to Paige and sat down on a small bench by the door, taking her daughter’s hand in her own. “What is it? Are you nervous?”

“No,” Paige said. “It’s just…you know…I think Dad would be happy for you. For us. Is it weird that I wish he was here to watch you get married to Mr. Jack?”

“Not at all,” Rachel said, her heart throbbing at the comment, at the thought. “I miss him, too, you know?”

“I know.” She opened her arms, and as Paige stepped into the embrace, Rachel held her close, a silent promise woven between them.

Holding her daughter, she felt a flush of warm certainty pass through her. Despite the time her job took away from them, Paige had always been her biggest supporter. Even as a kid, Paige understood the need for justice and for her mother to do very hard things. And while Rachel appreciated it beyond measure, she knew that she wanted more for her daughter. She didn’t want her daughter growing up to think it was normal to spend so much time away from family, to create so much stress for those she loved. Rachel understood in that moment that she needed to do a better job at setting this example going forward. Not just for Paige, but for Jack, too.

“Now,” Rachel said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s get a move on before you start making me cry and I have wet, goopy trails of makeup everywhere.”

Paige smiled and nodded. “Okay.”

"Ready?" Rachel asked, pulling away just enough to search Paige's face.

“For sure,” she said, her expression solemn yet bright with excitement, and they moved together toward the door. The world beyond it was small, the gathering meager in numbers but immeasurable in significance. Each person there was a thread in the tapestry of her new life, one she would weave with care, with love, and with an unyielding resolve to treasure every moment granted to them.

Emerging from the soft, elegant confines of the dressing room into the warm embrace of the afternoon sun, Rachel's eyes took a moment to adjust. She blinked, her senses slowly attuning to the vibrant colors and hushed anticipation that filled the small community garden waiting just thirty yards ahead of her. The space was modest, almost hidden away between the brick walls of the surrounding buildings, but it was alive with the greenery that spilled from every corner.

A few rows of chairs were neatly arranged on the lawn, occupied by solemn figures in suits and dresses. Among them sat Natalie King, her presence a comforting reminder of the support that had seen Rachel through the tempest of the past months. Rachel could scarcely remember saving the woman from the bathtub as Barnes’s intended final victim. Even fainter was the moment they’d passed one another in the hospital, of Natalie joking about wanting an invitation to the wedding. And now here she was, a reminder of why Rachel treasured her job.

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