“I ain’t blaming you,” he says finally.
“Not now.”
He flinches at that. It’s subtle, but I see it. The possibility. The doubt that might grow later. The resentment that might bloom in some quiet year when the memory doesn’t feel so sharp.
“I won’t survive it if you ever look at me and wonder,” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer, because he can’t promise he won’t. Not with blood on the floor and a dead wife in the ground.
So I do the only thing I can.
I step back.
“I need space,” I say.
Something breaks in his eyes. He nods once, stiff and controlled.
“Whatever you need,” he says.
It sounds like surrender. It feels like one.
I walk away from him on the courthouse steps in front of the whole damn town.
Not because I don’t want him.
Because I do. I just don’t deserve him.
And that’s what makes it unbearable.
Chapter 36
Brittany
The day of Bethany’s funeral, the sky hangs low and gray like it ain’t sure whose side it’s on.
Hell, Kentucky doesn’t close for death. It just tightens around it. Like the town wants to press you into smaller shapes until you fit whatever story they wrote about you.
The church parking lot is already full when Lottie pulls in. Trucks with club decals. Sedans with polished chrome. Two Pearly Gates vans parked near the back like they’re trying to look humble.
They ain’t.
My palms are damp in my lap.
“You don’t have to go,” Lottie says gently, killing the engine.
“I know.”
But I open the door, anyway. If I hide, they win. If I don’t show up, I become the girl who stabbed a woman and couldn’t even face the grave.
So I smooth my black dress down my thighs and step out.
The whispers start before I hit the steps.
“She’s here.”
“That’s her.”
“Lord have mercy.”
