Chapter 2:
The funeral was small. Pathetic, really.
Three dayster, a steady drizzle wept over the private cemetery in Queens. There was no press, no Lancaster associates. Just Isolde, the priest, and two members of the household staff who had liked Effie enough to show up.
Grayson wasn’t there.
His assistant had emailed Isolde that morning. Emergency board meeting regarding the Asian market expansion. Mr. Lancaster sends his regrets.
Isolde watched the small white casket being lowered into the ground.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She ignored it. It buzzed again. And again.
She pulled it out, thinking it might be the hospital with some final paperwork. It was an Instagram notification. Belle Escobar had tagged Grayson Lancaster.
Location: The Hamptons Golf Club.
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The photo showed Grayson mid-swing. In the background, Kaiden was holding a set of miniature golf clubs,ughing. Belle was holding a mimosa.
The caption read: Sometimes you just need a mental health day with the boys.
Isolde stared at the screen until the pixels burned into her retinas. A mental health day. While his daughter was being buried in the mud.
She didn’t scream. The part of her that could scream had died in the ICU.
She went home.
The penthouse was quiet. Grayson was still gone. Isolde walked into Effie’s room. It still smelled like baby powder andvender.
She began to pack.
Clothes into boxes. Toys into bags. The drawings from the fridge. The toothbrush from the bathroom.
The front door opened around 6 PM. Grayson walked in. He stopped in the hallway when he saw the pile of boxes.
“Finally,” he said, loosening his polo shirt. “I’ve been telling you to clear out that clutter for months. We can turn that room into a proper study for Kaiden now.”
Isolde stood still, holding a man envelope. She walked over to him.
“Sign this,” she said.
Grayson nced at the envelope. “What is it? Another bill for her specialists? I told you, just send it to ounting.”
“Just sign it.” Her voice was hollow.
Grayson rolled his eyes and took the pen she offered. He didn’t even read the header. He scrawled his signature—Grayson Lancasterrge and looping, the signature of a man who owned the world.
“There,” he said, tossing the envelope back onto the console. “Done. Now, Belle got that promotion to VP today. We’re hosting a dinner tonight. Tell Mrs. Higgins to prepare something impressive. And try to look… less like a corpse.”
Isolde took the signed papers. She didn’t answer.
She walked to the terrace doors.
“Where are you going?” Grayson called out, already heading toward the kitchen.
Isolde stepped out into the cool evening air. She had built a fire in the decorative fire pit earlier.
She held the wedding album over the mes.
The fire licked up the sides, curling the photos. She watched her own smiling face from five years ago turn ck and crumble to ash.
She picked up the teddy bear. The one Effie slept with every night.
She dropped that in too.
“Isolde?”
Grayson was standing at the ss doors, a ss of water in his hand. He looked confused. He sniffed the air. “What are you burning?” he asked, sliding the door open. “It smells like burning stic.”
Isolde turned to look at him. Her eyes were voids.
“Trash,” she said. “Just trash.”
Grayson frowned. He felt a sudden, sharp pain in his chest, a tightness he couldn’t exin. He rubbed his sternum. “Stop being weird. Get dressed for dinner.”
He went back inside.
Isolde watched him go. Then she turned back to the fire. The bear was gone. The photos were gone.
She walked back into the kitchen, opened the cab above the sink, and took down the bottle of prescription sleeping pills—the ones the doctor had given her for her “nerves.” She poured a ss of water.
She walked to the guest bedroom, the one she had been sleeping in for thest year. She sat on the edge of the bed. She swallowed the first pill. Then the second. Then the handful.
Shey back, crossing her hands over her chest.
I’ming, Effie, she thought. Wait for Mommy.
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