Chapter 1: The Ghost of a Marriage
“How much longer are you going to keep crying over Walter as if he were a saint?”
Tabitha stood in the doorway of her small apartment, wearing that sharp, biting smile she always used whenever she wanted to make me feel small.
I clutched the bouquet of wilted lilies in my trembling hands, feeling the weight of the one year that had passed since that horrific accident on the highway connecting the capital to the mountain regions.
That was the exact stretch of road where, according to the official police reports and the weeping relatives, Walter Harris had burned to d:ea:th inside his overturned delivery truck.
There had been no body to identify, only a sealed casket, a hollow feeling in my chest, and a family that had spent three hundred and sixty five days making sure I felt like an unwanted intruder in their grief.
“He was my husband,” I replied, my voice cracking as I fought to hold back the tears that threatened to ruin the last bit of composure I had left.
“I have every right to remember him in my own way, Tabitha.”
Tabitha let out a dry, hacking laugh that echoed against the peeling wallpaper of my living room as she stepped further inside without an invitation.
“Your husband, that is a laughably generous term for the man you barely knew,” she scoffed while looking around my modest home with pure disdain.
“You were never good enough for him, Phoebe, and we all know it because Walter was a visionary businessman, a man with a bright future and connections that could move mountains, while you were just a primary school teacher who could barely scrape enough together to pay the heating bill.”
I chose not to answer her, mostly because I was far too tired of fighting a battle that I had clearly already lost.
Ever since the news of the crash, Tabitha and her mother-in-law Olwen had treated me like a piece of luggage they were desperate to leave on the side of the road.
They reminded me every single Tuesday that the apartment actually belonged to the family trust, that I should pack my bags, and that Walter had only married me out of a momentary lapse of judgment or perhaps simple pity.
The most painful part of this entire nightmare was that, because I loved him so deeply, I had actually believed them for far too long.
That morning, I had decided to walk to the local farmers market to buy some inexpensive flowers before heading to the cemetery for the memorial service.
I was weaving through the rows of stalls selling fresh produce, handmade candles, and bunches of baby breath when an elderly man in tattered clothes reached out his hand toward me, his face hidden behind a thick, unkempt beard.
I instinctively opened my small purse to fish out a few coins, but then my gaze froze on his hand.
On the homeless man’s ring finger, catching the dim morning sunlight, gleamed a heavy gold band with a distinct wave shaped engraving etched into the metal.
It was not just any piece of jewelry, because it was a design I had personally sketched for Walter on our fifth anniversary, a unique pattern that simply could not be mistaken for anything else.
My lungs suddenly felt as if they were filling with ice water, and I felt like I could not breathe in the bustling air of the market.
“Where on earth did you get that ring?” I whispered, my voice barely audible above the noise of the vendors.
The man immediately snatched his hand back and shoved it deep into his filthy pocket, his eyes widening with a terror that looked far too rehearsed.
Without uttering a single word of explanation, he spun around and sprinted into the thickening crowd of shoppers, disappearing as if he were a phantom.
I did not think, I simply reacted by dropping my flowers and pushing through the crowd to follow him.
The old man did not dive into any dark alleyways to hide, but instead made a beeline for a bus stop and hopped onto a transit coach heading toward the upscale financial district of Brookwood.
He climbed off the bus right in front of a massive glass tower, where the private security guards greeted him with a respectful nod, clearly recognizing him despite his ragged appearance.
I followed behind a group of corporate executives entering the lobby, slipped into a different elevator, and rode it up to the executive floor where the primary engineering firm held its offices.
A heavy oak door was standing slightly ajar, allowing me to peek into the dim room beyond.
Inside, the man from the market was frantically dumping handfuls of crisp banknotes out of a torn burlap bag onto a mahogany desk.
Standing in front of him was a man dressed in an incredibly expensive charcoal suit, his back turned to the door, while a beautiful young woman in a vibrant red dress reclined on a velvet armchair.
“Good work, Chad,” the man said, his voice sending a jolt of recognition through my entire body that nearly made me collapse.
“Nobody ever suspects a beggar collecting payments from our various businesses, and it keeps the trail perfectly cold.”
I froze in place as the man in the suit finally turned around to face his companion.
It was Walter, alive, healthy, and looking more polished and arrogant than I had ever seen him.
The woman in the red dress leaned forward and sat gracefully on his lap, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger.
“And how long do we really have to wait until we get everything that belongs to the old man in the penthouse?” she asked, her tone dripping with impatience.
“I am so tired of having to pretend that I care about this pathetic charade.”
Walter leaned down and pressed a slow, calculated kiss against her neck.
“It won’t be much longer now, Melanie, because Tabitha and mother know exactly what they need to know to keep the script going.”
“Thanks to their help, I was able to fake that explosion and finally get rid of Phoebe, that boring and unproductive wife who just kept weighing me down.”
“Now, all that remains is for Joshua Edwards to finally fall into the trap, as he trusts me like a son, and once he eats that final meal, the entire company will be ours for the taking.”
I stepped back into the shadows of the hallway, my shaking hand pressed firmly against my mouth to stifle the scream that wanted to tear its way out of my throat.
For an entire year, I had wept over a man who was sitting in a high rise office laughing at my misery.
I had sold my late mother’s diamond earrings just to pay for a marble headstone for a grave that was completely empty.
