Sorry Comes After Death

Three years after Vivian and I married into the Domingo family, our husbands' childhood crush Niama Guido came back to the town.

Vivian and I had a whole escape plan.

But the night before we bailed, Vivian threw herself off a high-rise.

I called her husband, Pedro Domingo.

He laughed, his tone nasty and cold.

"Reena, my brother asked, since she jumped today, are you going to drown yourself tomorrow?"

Pedro's voice hit like a slap, sharp and smug. My ears rang. My heart was sinking.

I stared at Vivian, blood pooling under her, and croaked, "Pedro, I'm serious. She's dead."

He snorted.

"Dead? For real? And what, I'm supposed to hold a funeral for her now? Reena, just 'cause I've played nice doesn't mean I see you as family. You, Vivian, and your little stunts are pathetic."

It was summer, but I felt frozen.

I should've known he wouldn't believe me. Vivian was merely a pawn used to shield him from his parents' nagging.

Still... a part of her must've hoped he'd care.

In the end, he let her down—again.

A girl's voice came from the other end of the phone. "Pedro, why are you still on the phone? Come sing with me!"

Pedro's voice flipped, syrupy sweet. "Alright, alright, my princess. I'm hanging up."

The night was pitch black. Somehow, I felt suffocated as if it wrapped me tightly.

I held Vivian's blood-soaked body. Eyes blank. Mind gone.

It made no sense.

Yesterday, she was dead set on leaving the Domingos with me.

Now she was the girl who jumped.

She hated heights. Couldn't handle pain. Still—thirty stories. Gone.

I went through the motions—police, paperwork, cremation.

By sunrise, the loud, lively Vivian was just ashes in a box.

As the first light cracked through the sky, I stepped out of the crematorium, clutching what was left of her.

"Miss, your phone's ringing," someone called.

Snapped back, I fumbled for my phone, eyes too blurry to read the screen.

I answered. My husband Marco's voice hit, deep and accusing.

"You didn't come home last night."

"Yeah," I said, flat.

He got colder. "What's that tone? Were you and Vivian off pulling your stunts again? Reena Rayne, I told you—stay away from her."

The phone felt like lead in my hand.

I took a shaky breath. "Vivian's dead. You don't have to trash her anymore."

Silence. Then Marco's voice came back.

"You're really going along with her crap now? She jumps today, what—are you dying tomorrow? Or is this some fake-death prank? We're too busy to play your games, Reena."

He hung up. No hesitation.

And honestly? I felt relieved.

Let them believe whatever they wanted.

For her to jump like that... maybe Vivian had already let go. Of the Domingos. Of Pedro.

I wiped my face and took her to the sea.

She had no family. No place to go back to.

When we were planning our escape, she said the ocean was what she wanted to see most—besides the mountains and rivers.

So I let part of her go there.

As her ashes slipped from my fingers, the wind picked up, sweeping them into the water.

My throat tightened. "Vivian... is that you?"

The breeze blew harder, like she was answering.

I smiled, blinking through tears. "Go on. When it's all over, I'll finish the road we never got to walk."

The wind died down. Quiet. Just like her.

By the time I got back to the Domingo estate, it was already noon.

Both Marco and Pedro were there—go figure.

As soon as I stepped in, their eyes were all over me. Heavy.

Pedro smirked.

"Reena, you're back. So... where's Vivian? Don't tell me she's still living it up at the hotel?"