His Sinful Infatuation

Chapter 1

I've been standing here for the past two hours, my tear-filled eyes locked on the casket as I mourn the loss of one of my best friends—my grandma. The sound of the raindrops striking the ground echoed loudly into my ears, almost as if they were gunshots, and they were only falling down harder and louder. I have a love-and-hate relationship with rain. At any other time, I would enjoy the sound with my arms wide open, my face looking up towards the sky with a big grin as I spin around in circles outside, wetting my whole body in the rain. But today, all I could think about was the gloomy feeling it was installing in my core.

Maybe if the sun were shining brightly at me and my grandmother's casket, I would be appreciating the happy memories I have shared with my grandmother—positive thoughts—but instead, it made me realize the truth that she was gone. A lone tear ran down my face as they lowered her casket down to the depths of the earth. I blink the tear away, and another after another follows right after it rolls down my face.

This was the first death I faced, and I never knew it was this hard to say goodbye, even though I didn't get to say a proper goodbye. I had asked the mortician to let me see her body before they buried her, but he told me my grandma had requested a close casket funeral.

It doesn't make sense that even as a family member, I don't get to see her face one last time.

But I do believe that my grandma arranged everything; she always had a plan for any circumstance. Even on her death bed, she had set for me to wear her favorite color clothes, a black dress, white heels, and a sky-blue umbrella. All that was required was my presence, only me. I am the last remaining of her family blood. She didn't like my mother. She never had, so it didn't surprise me that she only wished for me to attend her funeral.

I looked over at the guy who stood with his head bowed down in a black suit—he was going to bury her. He was very close to my grandma and had been working for her for a long time, and as much as I would like to talk to him about her, I knew he wouldn't say a word. None of them were talking to me, except for her attorney, who I'd met on certain occasions when having lunch with my grandma. They were just doing their perspective job and directing me to the proper places. I somehow appreciated his silence because it gave me time to process that my grandma was about to be erased from my reality and remain a segment of my memories.

My eyes traveled back to the black rose gripped in my hand, and I slowly bent down to place it on top of the casket, bidding my farewell. I will miss you, Grandma; I hope to see you in my dreams.

Turning on my heels, I walked away from the casket and made my way to the waiting car, my face stained with the wet glow of my tears, and I stared at her attorney, who stood by the open backseat door, guiding me in. I settled inside the car, and the door slammed shut; I looked back at the grave and watched as the guy used his shuttle to bury the casket with dirt. My mind wandered back to two days ago when I received the news.
...
"Good morning Ms. Monae. I am contacting you regarding Mrs. Durant's passing."

My dark eyes glistened under the brightness of the phone due to my tears and roamed over the text once again, hoping I had read it wrong. With my head tightening up—almost like the feeling of a headband wrapping and squeezing my head—it was hard to concentrate on the message. The pressure was so much that it felt like my head would explode. My trembling hand held the phone tighter, trying to read it properly.

She wasn't supposed to be gone.

It was supposed to be a short vacation; she was supposed to return on time for my birthday, right on time for her to bake me my favorite cashew cake. The plan was already set months before it would even be my birthday. How could this happen? She was a healthy lady in great shape from her many years of running.