Page 64 of This Woman Forever

Three funerals in two weeks. Carmichael first—a massive affair, the church packed—but I was the only member of his family there. The rest of the congregation? Friends, lovers, members. All of them admired him. Respected him. It wasn’t a funeral. It was a celebration of life. My parents couldn’t even bring themselves to be there for me.

Rebecca’s was next.

Now Rosie. My girl’s funeral isn’t a celebration of life because she barely had a life.

As I stand at the front of the church staring at my daughter’s little coffin, all I can hear past the sobbing and the priest talking is my own voice constantly asking... why?

Why, why, why, why, why?

I feel Sarah’s hand rest on my bicep and swallow, subtly shrugging it off. “Don’t,” I say flatly, knowing Lauren is nearby. Knowing she’ll be focused on me, not on the coffin that has our dead little girl inside.

“Just trying to be here for you,” Sarah says quietly.

I don’t counter, there’s little point. The priest’s stopped talking, and it takes me a moment to realize there’s someone else up in front of the congregation now. Our eyes meet as she pulls out a piece of paper. Hers turning onto Sarah beside me. Crazy eyes. Sarah shouldn’t have come. I told her not to come. She’s a red flag.

I look down at my feet and close my eyes. “My husband and I would like to thank you for coming,” Lauren says. Her husband. It takes me a moment to remember that was me. The divorce completed months ago.

Sarah breathes out her disbelief.

“We feel so blessed for the time we had with our little girl,” Lauren goes on. “She will never be replaced, but one day the pain of losing her will be soothed by another child.”

I jolt.

“Oh my God,” Sarah whispers.

Lauren’s eyes fall onto me. “I know her father feels the same, and I know this loss will only bring us closer together.”

I hear John clear his throat, and I notice Lauren’s parents out of the corner of my eye. Alan looks at me, refusing to show his concern. I shake my head mildly, making sure he knows she’s not speaking for me.

“You need to be careful,” John says quietly as Lauren rambles on, telling the few people here how we’ve got through these first few difficult weeks because of each other. I’ve hugged her, of course, I’m not a fucking monster, but she must have felt my reluctance. She must have noticed the lack of warmth.

John’s right. I need to be careful.

“I love my husband,” Lauren goes on, putting emphasis on that one word. Husband. I’m barely a man. We’re twenty-one years old. Lauren’s talking like we’ve been happily married for years—close, tight, madly in love. A family. “Only he can ease my pain.” She looks at me, her eyes burning my skin.

I can’t listen to this. See this. I step out of the row and go to Rosie’s coffin, placing both palms on the glossy wood, staring at the plaque.

ROSIE AMALIE WARD

1993 – 1996

My heart turns in my chest, my throat clogs. Lauren’s stopped talking, stopped trying to convince the world that we’re solid, in love... together. At least, she’s stopped talking. She’ll never stop trying to convince everyone. Scary thing is, I think she’s convinced herself. I swallow as I dip, pushing my lips to the wood. “Goodnight, my baby girl,” I whisper, pushing off and walking out of the church, roughly wiping at my eyes. I see my parents in the back row.

I don’t stop.

Despite hearing my mum calling me.

I’m done with this life.

The hurt, pain, regret, guilt.

Done.

Ring, ring, ring.

I blink my eyes open and stare at the ceiling for a few moments, trying to come round. Trying to push the dreams away. “Fucking hell,” I whisper, swiping a palm down my rough cheek as I lift my arse off the bed. I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, grimacing at the dozens of missed calls. John, Sam, Drew. Four voicemails. I listen to John asking where the hell I am. I listen to Sam ask me why the fuck Ava’s at Kate’s. I listen to Drew demand I call him.

And then my sister’s voice comes down the line, catching me off guard. “Hey,” she says tentatively, as every muscle I possess hardens. “I hope you listen to this.” My mind demands I cut the message off. I don’t. “We’re leaving for Seville at the end of the week,” she goes on. “I’d so love it if you would come. Dad’s not been great lately, and I worry you’ll regret it if you don’t make amends. They’re getting old, Jesse. Just... think about it. I love you.”