Dear Mr Montgomery✔️

CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT : ELENA WILLIAMS

THIRD PERSON'S POV.

The large hall filled with people in black attires was as melancholy as the event but something was distinct and very different from the other funerals that the rich hosted.

Elena Williams. She grew in wealth as she was born in wealth and she married into wealth. Elena was one of the greatest women that any of them had ever met. Most of them in the room had only cared about her influence and wealth in her lifetime. They had only focused on things that they wanted from her but even then, even after their intentions even their eyes were laced with greed and selfishness they didn't fail to see what a wonder Elena williams was.

One would have never expected her to see the world the way she had did. She was used, betrayed and even abandoned by the people who were supposed to love her. That was the life of the rich.

Everyone envies them, they want to be them and it is difficult for them to visualize a situation where the rich can also cry or want or need. Elena had cried and she has wanted and she had needed but that did succeed in changing the kind of woman she was or the spirit she had. She had survived those who had used her, she had mourned those who had neglected her, she had remembered and revered those who had betrayed her.

Some of those in the room who had attended had just come to witness the obvious. Her family who had shown all squeezed their face in scorn and were only present because of a sense of duty. Elena Williams had left a vast estate and wealth behind and everyone in the room knows who will be getting it all.

The child she raised as her own. The child she loved more that herself even though he was the product of the betrayal of those who were supposed to be her family. The child of her late husband's and her own twin sister. Her nephew. Alan Williams.

The man of the day and the host of the funeral-the man succeeding her- although in a room full of people, he felt like the loneliest being in the world. Even the presence from his fiance who was standing next to him didn't give him any warmth and he only became colder and colder.

Alan could hear everyone in the room giving their well wishes and condolences to him but it was obvious what they were all thinking; some were subtle, some weren't and some didn't even try to be. To the people in the room he was the luckiest man in the world after all, he was inheriting a vast amount of wealth. Alan had tried to cry, he had tried to scream, he had even tried to run but the people around him seemed to drown him. He felt like he was suffocating and drowning.

Alan wanted to mourn. He wanted to mourn his aunt. His mother. That was what she was. His best friend, his confidant. The only other woman who could understand him and who was patient with him.

When he was youngg, Alan had always felt guilty whenever she took care of him. He has wanted her to hate him, after all he was the child of an affair that had left her cold and lonely. And whenever he shied away from her she was there waiting at the entrance of the door.

When he was a rebellious teenager and he had yelled at her for being a weird woman who took care of the love child of her husband and her sister instead of hating him, all she had done was smile and hug him. She had taught him to love and to want to be loved. She had been there through every decision he had made, whether good or bad.

Her voice, her smile, her scent, her touch. They were all at the back of his mind. He could feel them, see them but he couldn't touch them. Every moment longer felt like they were all fading and he couldn't do anything.

He wanted to hear her voice again, maybe even hold her and touch her. He wanted to commit all those feelings to memory this time so he would be guaranteed that he wouldn't forget. He would give away all the inheritance if that was what it would take to do that, to see her again.