𝓐𝓼 𝓦𝓮 𝓛𝓪𝔂

Ch. 29. The Final Act of Love

Everybody dressed in black, so of course my heart assumed the worst.

The church was packed. The kind of crowd you get when somebody was complicated, when their life touched a lot of people whether they deserved to or not. I sat beside Tiffany and Erica, my fingers locked tight in my hands, like if I let go, the ground might open up and swallow me whole.

The casket sat at the front. Open.

And for a split second-just one-I couldn't breathe. Because grief don't ask questions first. It just shows up.

My mind went straight back to blood on his shirt. Sirens. My voice screaming his name until my throat burned.

I reached over and squeezed Maurice's hand harder, and he leaned down, lips brushing my ear.

"I'm right here, baby."

That's when I really looked. The face in that casket wasn't my husband's. It was Matthew Howard's.

Cancer had hollowed him out. Skin stretched too tight, cheeks sunken, lips pale. Death had taken what sickness already stole. His hands were folded on his chest, finally still. No shaking now. No pretending.

A murmur rippled through the pews.

Tiffany sat on the front row, eyes red, jaw tight. Her husband had one arm around her, the other holding their little girl who didn't fully understand why everybody was sad. Their son leaned into his dad's leg, confused and quiet. We chose not to bring our children, we came solely to support Maurice's sisters.

Erica sat beside her sister, staring straight ahead like if she blinked, the truth might hit harder. When her shoulders started to shake, Tiffany reached for her without looking. The both of them quietly sobbing. I exhaled. Slow. Shaky. This wasn't my husband's funeral. This was the end of a lie.

The sound that always comes back first is the gunshots.

Not loud like movies make it. More... final.

Pop....

Pop.

I was already tracking Maurice's location on my phone because my spirit wouldn't let me sit still. Once I realized what he was doing, I had to get to him. Something felt off. Way off. When I saw he was heading downtown and had stopped at a parking garage, I put the petal to the metal.

By the time we pulled up, the garage was echoing with chaos. Tires screeching somewhere above us. Footsteps running. Then sirens, already close.

Detective Washington and Detective Walsh were already moving in when we got there. Guns drawn. Focused. Ready.

I ran to the entrance, my heart punching my ribs.

"Maurice!" I screamed. Minutes dragged by like hours and the sight of an ambulance nearly sent me to meet the Lord. Rhonda told me to pray harder. This wasn't the end.

I don't remember falling to my knees, but suddenly I was there, my hands shaking. The ambulance stopped at the entrance and the back doors flew open. And there I seen him, just as a white van with the words coroners zoomed passed us. I exhaled, relieved to see him. It took me less than a second to hop in, looking at my love, scared to touch him wrong.

"I'm good baby," he said through clenched teeth. "Just this-damn-arm burning."

They said they found Matthew slumped against a pillar, gun on the ground near his hand. No movement. No words. Just silence where rage used to live.

Maurice turned his head away.
"It's finally over, baby," he whispered.

And he meant it. The truth unraveled fast after that.