heard her say it. Didn't think she was meaning to hide it though. I told Mark she's no good. Mark, stupid ex-girlfriend, of course crying. Ugh… so dramatic. Can this crazy witch let me mourn in peace?
She stood there in the presence of my fucking mother-in-law, being all historical like I give a fuck. Oh, my Mark… why did you have to leave me? I felt way too much pain to even react to her drama. Just see, look at her—she hasn't even shed a tear.
I heard my mother-in-law clearly saying something. I didn't care. I didn't have the energy for this right now.
I took a deep breath. There I was, standing in front of the church, in front of my husband's coffin. Devastated. Completely lost. I definitely didn't need more drama at this point. A tear tried to scroll down my cheek, but I wiped it off immediately. Not… not Alexa, I whispered to myself.
I exhaled deeply. The air felt heavy, thick with grief that wanted to crush me. I wanted to scream, to cry, to throw myself onto the coffin, but I couldn't. Not here. Not now. Not with all those eyes watching me like I was some weak little girl.
I went to the bathroom to freshen up, trying to catch a second to myself. The cool tiles under my feet did nothing to calm me. I stared at the mirrors. Pale skin. Red eyes. Hair messy from holding it back. My reflection looked broken, but strong at the same time. Strong enough to hold it together in front of everyone.
And then the flashback hit me. The night of Mark's death. The chaos. The sirens. The hospital. The cold, empty bed. The helplessness. I felt my chest tighten so much I thought I would choke. My hands shook. Ugh… I didn't need this. I snapped myself out of it. Focus. Don't lose it here.
I washed my face, letting the cold water hit my skin. My pulse was racing. My stomach turned. My heart… oh, my heart was breaking. I pressed my hands against the sink, staring at my reflection again. I had to pull myself together. I had to.
And then someone walked up to me as I wanted to leave the restroom. "Cynthia." Mark's ex staggered into me, and of course… this is all I needed. Ugh… so annoying.
I wanted to yell, push her aside, tell her to get the hell out. But I didn't. I just froze, chest tight, palms sweaty, mind screaming. Every nerve in my body wanted to explode.
"Move," I wanted to say, but my voice wouldn't come out. Instead, I just stared. Eyes wide, hands at my sides, gripping the edges of my bag. My mind spun. How could someone be so insensitive? So… dramatic?
Cynthia sneered. That fake, smug smile that always made me want to punch her in the face. She tilted her head, watching me. And then… without warning…
WHAP.
The sting exploded across my cheek. My head jerked sideways. My hand flew to my face. Heat, anger, and shock hit me all at once.
I stared at her. My chest pounding. My vision blurred. My mind couldn't process it. Did she just…?
"Yes! You heard me!" she snapped, her voice sharp, cruel. "You don't even deserve to cry! Mark was mine before you stole him!"
Pain and disbelief ripped through me. My hand still stung where she slapped me. My chest felt tight, heart hammering like it would break out of my ribs. Rage bubbled up so fast I thought I might scream. But I couldn't. Not here. Not in front of everyone.
The bathroom felt too small, the air too heavy. My eyes burned, tears threatening again, but I refused to let them fall. Not now. Not to her.
I gritted my teeth. My hands curled into fists. My legs shook, but I straightened. I wouldn't back down. Not to her. Not to anyone.
And yet… inside, a storm raged. Pain, grief, fury, heartbreak—all tangled up in a bitter, hot knot that refused to untangle.
I inhaled shakily. My reflection in the mirror looked back at me—pale, red-eyed, trembling just slightly, but still standing. Still upright. Still me.
Cynthia's smirk didn't falter. Her chest heaved with her own twisted satisfaction. She thought she had won. She thought she had hurt me.
But she hadn't. Not really.
Not yet.
I exhaled slowly. Deep. Deliberate. Every nerve screaming, but my face calm. My chest still burned, my hands shook, my mind racing. But I was still standing.
This funeral. This coffin. This so-called mourning—it wasn't the end. It was just the beginning.
And that slap… that insult… would not go unanswered.
I straightened my shoulders, my jaw tight. My heart is still breaking. My mind still spinning. And I realized—this grief, this rage, this pain… It wasn't a weakness. It was fuel. And I would use it.
Mark is gone. But me? I'm just starting.