Page 78 of Bestowed


Font Size:

The air rushes from my lungs in a ragged gasp. I lie there blinking up at—

Wait. What?

Above me, branches sway, thick, heavy, draped in falling leaves like long green veils.

A weeping willow.

I sit up slowly. Heart pounding. Nerves ringing.

There’s no mistaking it.

I just got yanked out of the Candy Maker’s house and dumped here. My Gran’s place.

Or, more accurately now, my ex’s and Jessica’s.

The universe swallowed me whole…

And spit me out at the site of my own grave.

I’d be lying if I said getting dropped beneath my old willow tree was how I pictured revisiting my ex-husband and his not-so-charming new wife after being resurrected.

Falling face-first into the mud, with my hair already turning into soggy dreadlocks?

Yeah, that wasn’t part of the fantasy.

But here we are.

Again.

At my grave.

Like it’s got some damn magnet in it.

I groan and push myself upright, every joint protesting. The back of my head throbs like I just fell two stories, and my clothes—excuse me, Cassian’s clothes—are wrecked. Not exactly the thank-you he was hoping for, I’m sure.

But screw it.

Apparently, the universe didn’t factor in his one rare act of kindness before flinging me back here.

I look up.

The willow tree looms overhead, its branches swaying like they’re mourning something. Last time I was here, I could climb them without touching the ground and just sit on my favorite branch, watching the world go by.

Now? I get chills just thinking about it.

What the hell was I even doing all those years? Sitting here watching Mark live his happy little life? Like some pathetic ghost, chained to a man who didn’t deserve an ounce of my attention.

I should’ve been roaming the world. Chasing sun-kissed beaches and hot Hawaiian men until the pull dragged me back here, not moping like a widow in a melodrama.

I’ve been torturing myself. And yeah, I blame him for that too.

Useless, cruel fucker.

Didn’t even give me a proper burial. Just left me here, locked in a loop, waiting forever.

Not anymore.

I stagger to my feet, wiping mud off my palms and onto my thighs.