Oh, easy, Bennett, I can’t take it anymore, oh, god…”
The sultry voice from the next room, mingled with the rhythmic thudding of the headboard against the wall, drilled into Edith’s ears.
Her hands clenched into fists, fingernails biting so hard into her palms it hurt.
But nothing hurt as much as the ache in her chest.
It came in crushing waves, each one stealing her breath, threatening to suffocate
her.
Today, of all days, was the one she’d chosen to end her own life.
Forty–nine days ago, the Vance family had received devastating news: the plane carrying her husband, Beckett Vance, and his older brother, Bennett, had crashed. Bennett made it home. Beckett didn’t–he died in that tragedy.
That night, Edith cried herself hoarse and eventually passed out from grief.
After Beckett’s memorial, Edith had lost all will to live.
She’d spent more than a month stockpiling sleeping pills, but every time she thought of dying alone in the Vance mansion, without Beckett, the loneliness pressed in too hard.
So she’d planned to take the pills to Beckett’s grave, to die beside him. That was her reason for leaving the house that day–until she overheard her mother–in–law and Bennett talking in the garden.
“Beckett, it’s been over a month now, and Salome’s still not pregnant. Do you think there’s something wrong with her too? She doesn’t even try to fight for anything! What are we going to do? Your first wife couldn’t give us a child, and now this… What did the Vance family do to deserve this kind of fate!”
In that moment, Edith nearly fainted right there among the rosebushes. She gripped the edge of the flower bed, stunned, as if struck by lightning, unable to process what she’d just heard.
Her mind spun, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming.
Beckett hadn’t died after all.
It was Bennett who had perished in the crash. And because Edith hadn’t been able to bear children in their years of marriage, the Vance family had orchestrated this
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sordid charade?
She couldn’t believe it.
She knew Beckett–at least, she thought she did. He wasn’t that kind of man.
Was it his mother, desperate to preserve the Vance line, who had pushed him into this?
But then Beckett spoke, shattering her last hope.
“I’ve taken Salome to the doctor. There’s nothing wrong with her–it just takes time to get pregnant. I’m doing everything I can.”
Everything he could? In the past month, he hadn’t spent a single night apart from Salome.
At first, Edith had thought it was just the passion of a couple grateful to have survived a disaster together.
Now, she saw it for what it was–utterly revolting.
Beckett went on, “Mom, please don’t say things like that here. If Salome overhears, she’ll be devastated. She’s always been fragile and timid. If she found out about Bennett, she might not make it either.”
So, he wasn’t being forced.
He actually cared for Salome Vale.
Edith sank down onto the edge of the flower bed and let out a bitter laugh.
Salome was too delicate to survive the news of Bennett’s death, then what about
her?
Fragile and timid, was it?
Unable to go on living, was it?
This was the man she’d spent more than a thousand nights beside–her husband.
And to think, she’d come all this way to die at his grave, hoping to keep him company beneath the cold earth. But Beckett was more concerned that his precious Salome couldn’t handle the truth, so he was willing to leave his own wife behind and take his brother’s place in every way that mattered.
Tears slipped silently down Edith’s cheeks as she gripped the bottle of pills, memories of her life with Beckett flickering through her mind like a film reel.
But Beckett himself had reached out and switched off the projector–cutting
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everything short with his own hand.
Edith slipped quietly back to the home she and Beckett had once filled with love.
The bedside table still held their honeymoon photo from Europe. The smile she wore in that picture was as bright as the tears she shed now were bitter.
For the past month, she’d only managed to sleep at night by hugging that photo
frame to her chest.
Pathetic.
Absolutely pathetic.
With a burst of rage, Edith smashed the frame, shattering not just the glass, but their six–year love story and three years of marriage.
The phone rang. It was her family.
Since the plane crash, her mother, Jayne, had called every night, desperate to comfort her, terrified that Edith would give in to her grief.
Tonight was no different–except Jayne sounded hesitant, as if she was struggling to find the words.
“Mom, if there’s something you want to say, just say it. There’s no need for formalities between us.”
Relieved, Jayne finally spoke plainly. “Edith, I know Beckett’s only just gone. I’m afraid this will upset you, but life has to go on. Today someone from the Hawksley family came by, reminding us of the promise made all those years ago.”
The Sumner and Hawksley families had arranged a marriage when Edith was a
child.
But after the Sumners lost their fortune, they couldn’t possibly match the Hawksleys anymore. Edith met Beckett, fell in love, and her family had quietly let go of the old arrangement.
Jayne sighed. “I know you can’t move on so quickly, and I would never pressure
you…”
Before she could finish, Edith cut in, voice steady and resolute. “Mom, I’ll do it. I’ll marry him.”
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