Page 7 of The Woman at the Funeral

And, God help me, I clung to this man who probably wanted nothing more than to get away from me. Like he always did.

But he just stood there, stalwart and strong, holding me together as I split apart.

I wasn’t sure how long we stayed like that. It felt like hours. And from the raw feeling on my cheeks, the swelling of my eyelids, and the scratchy sensation in my throat, I could almost believe it was close to that.

Eventually, though, I found some decorum, sniffling and turning away before he could see my face.

“You don’t have to stay,” I said, striding down past the kitchen toward the hall bathroom. I needed to blow my nose and splash some cool water on my cheeks and eyelids.

“I’m not leaving you alone,” Nico’s voice followed me into the small powder room.

There was no logical reason for how my belly wobbled at his words.

Surely, it was just gratitude. For someone having the decency to care about me, despite my complicated relationship with Matthew.

If I were being honest with myself, I’d been a little worried about being all alone after the funeral was over. Sure, I’d been alone when I’d first gotten the news of Matthew’s passing. But something almost felt surreal about that. Even if I logically knew he was gone, it hadn’t sunk in. I knew that after the service, there would be no denying it.

Matthew was gone.

Any chance we might have had—albeit slim—to reconcile and work out our many issues was dashed.

Only now I wasn’t a divorcee like I’d planned.

I was a widow.

Matthew, with all of his flaws and many sweet attributes, was torn from this world. From his family.

It was all just so unbearably sad.

Even if I had been grieving the loss of him for many months already, letting him go little by little.

Alone, I tried to make myself presentable. But I’d always been someone whose skin refused to show any sort of grace. If I dared to pick at a blemish, my skin was stained red for a week. So there was no helping the tear-streaked cheeks or the swollen lids.

What did it matter?

It wasn’t like I’d see Nico again after this.

So I took a deep breath, straightened my somber dress, and made my way back out into the hallway, my heels clicking down the white marble floors.

“What are you doing?” I asked. Then immediately cringed at the sharp edge to my voice as I caught him with his hand in one of the kitchen drawers.

“Menus,” he said, producing them. “I’m going to order some food. Your fridge is empty.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“That’s okay. I’m going to have it here in case you get hungry.”

I couldn’t seem to stop myself from comparing Nico and his friend.

If I’d told Matthew that I wasn’t hungry, he’d have told me, ‘suit yourself,’ and order food only for himself. And if I dared to try to steal a bite, he’d yank his plate away, barking at me about how I said I wasn’t hungry and it wasn’t his fault I didn’t realize I mightgethungry by the time the food got there.

It was a stark comparison to have Nico taking charge and making the decision, knowing that when emotions and energy ran low, I would be hungry. And stuck at home with nothing to eat.

Did I need a man to take care of me? Absolutely not. Was it nice to have it, just once? God, yes. Especially after the last few days.

“Thank you,” I said, watching him flip through the menu choices before making a decision himself. Like he knew I was too overwhelmed to even make a small choice, like what food to order.

I found myself standing there, listening to the pleasant, smooth timbre of his voice as he called in a large order.

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