Chapter 3

The next three days were a performance. I played the part of the shattered widow so convincingly, I almost believed it myself. I stayed in my darkened bedroom, refusing food, speaking only in hushed, broken sentences. Martha hovered, her presence a constant, suffocating weight. She brought me tea and soup I never touched, her eyes constantly searching my face for the cracks she expected to see.

She saw only what I wanted her to see: a woman drowning in sorrow.

The day of the memorial service arrived, grey and drizzling, a perfect backdrop for the drama. I allowed Martha to dress me in a simple black dress, my movements slow and listless. Inside, my heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of anticipation.

We arrived at the funeral home. It was filled with David' s fellow officers, their blue uniforms a stark contrast to the somber room. Friends and neighbors filled the pews, their faces etched with sympathy. They looked at me, the poor, tragic wife, and shook their heads sadly.

I saw David standing in the corner with Emily. He had his arm around her, comforting her. They were playing the parts of the grieving brother and the devastated family friend. He caught my eye and gave me a small, sad nod, a gesture of shared loss. The hypocrisy was so blatant it almost made me laugh. He looked right through me, seeing only a problem that would soon be solved.

Emily, dressed in a ridiculously tight black dress, dabbed at her dry eyes with a tissue. She looked impatient, eager for this formality to be over so her new life could begin. Their arrogance was my shield. They were so certain of their victory they couldn't see the danger right in front of them.

The service began. David' s captain gave a moving speech about a fallen hero, a man of integrity and courage. He spoke about the man I had married, but he was talking about the man in the casket. Mark. A good man who deserved to be mourned for who he was, not as a stand-in for his monstrous brother.

Then, David stepped up to the podium. The room fell silent.

"I' m not much for speeches," he began, his voice thick with false emotion. "Losing my brother... it' s a hole that will never be filled." He looked directly at me. "I see Sarah, my brave sister-in-law, and their son, Billy, and I know I have a duty. A duty to honor my brother's memory."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. Emily looked at him with adoration.

"David was worried about Sarah and Billy' s future," he continued, the lie rolling off his tongue so easily. "He told me once, 'If anything ever happens to me, you look after them, Mark.' And I will."

He was using Mark' s name. He was speaking as Mark, the surviving twin. The plan was even more twisted than I' d realized. He wasn' t just faking his death; he was stealing his brother' s life.

"Emily and I... we' ve been friends for a long time. And in the wake of this tragedy, we' ve found comfort in each other. We' ve decided... to face the future together. To honor David by building a life he would have wanted for his family. We will be getting married. We will raise Billy as our own, and make sure Sarah is taken care of for the rest of her life."

A wave of murmurs went through the crowd. It was fast, shockingly fast, but he framed it as a noble sacrifice. He was the dutiful brother stepping up. Emily was the caring friend supporting him. People started to nod. They saw a beautiful, tragic story of love and duty rising from the ashes of loss.

They saw two saviors.

They didn' t see the vultures they were.

I felt their gazes shift to me, waiting for my reaction. They expected tears, a breakdown, perhaps even a protest. I gave them nothing. I just sat there, my face a blank canvas of shock, letting their narrative take hold. Let them believe it. Let them think I was too weak, too broken to object.

The more they believed his lie, the harder his fall would be. And I would be the one to push him.