Or maybe because, for the first time, I no longer needed him to understand me.
I only needed the truth to be heard.
I looked around the chapel.
“I’m sorry to interrupt.”
A nervous murmur passed through the crowd.
I glanced toward the flowers, the photograph, and the casket.
“But I believe this funeral has been arranged for me.”
No one laughed.
Daniel’s face twitched.
“Claire, please.
Let’s go somewhere private.”
I turned back toward him.
“Private?”
He swallowed.
“We need to talk.”
“Like we talked at Silver Gorge?”
His shoulders stiffened.
I saw it.
A tiny reaction.
But enough.
“Claire,” he said in a low voice, “you’re confused.”
“No.
I’m not.”
“You had a terrible accident.”
I shook my head.
“It wasn’t an accident.”
A woman near the front covered her mouth.
Daniel looked toward her, then back at me.
“Of course it was.”
I held his gaze.
“You pushed me.”
The room fell completely silent.
Daniel didn’t answer immediately.
Then he laughed.
It was a short, strained laugh.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Claire, that’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
He spread his hands.
“Why would I push my own wife?”
I felt Lily move beneath my ribs.
I rested a hand against my stomach.
“That’s a question I’ve been asking myself for three days.”
His expression hardened.
Then he remembered the audience.
“Sweetheart, you nearly drowned.
You must have hit your head.
You’re frightened, and I understand that.”
He turned toward the crowd.
“Everybody, please.
My wife has been through something unimaginable.”
I almost admired how quickly he found his footing.
Almost.
He wasn’t explaining himself to me anymore.
He was speaking to them.
The audience he’d assembled.
The people whose sympathy he had already collected.
He wanted them to see a traumatized woman making wild accusations against a grieving husband.
I had seen him do versions of this before.
At dinner with friends, when I disagreed with him about our finances.
At family gatherings, when I asked why he’d made plans without consulting me.
He would smile patiently, lower his voice, and say I was upset.
Then everyone would look at me as though I were the problem.
But this time, I hadn’t come alone.
And I wasn’t going to let him change the subject.
“Daniel,” I said, “tell them where we were standing.”
He blinked.
“What?”
“At the gorge.
Tell them.”
He looked around.
“We were at the overlook.”
“Which part?”
“The viewing area.”
“Behind the railing?”
He hesitated.
“Near it.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“Claire—”
“You took me beyond the main path.
You wanted us to stand on the rock with no railing.”
His jaw tightened.
“It was a scenic spot.”
“I told you I didn’t want to go closer.”
“You wanted a picture.”
“No.
You said you wanted a picture.”
He glanced at the detective.
Then he looked at the people around us.
“This is absurd.
I was trying to give my wife a beautiful afternoon.”
“Did you take the picture?”
He froze.
“What?”
“You told me we were going there to take a picture before Lily was born.
Did you take one?”
He said nothing.
“Did you even take out your phone?”
His eyes flickered.
“I don’t remember.
Everything happened so fast.”
I nodded.
“Yes.
That seems to be the part of your story you remember best.”
A quiet murmur moved through the chapel.
Daniel’s mouth tightened.
He turned toward Nora.
“Nora, please.
You know me.”
She stood beside the aisle.
For a moment, she simply stared at him.
Then she said, “I thought I did.”
His expression changed.
“Nora?”
She shook her head.
“You stood in my kitchen yesterday and told me you watched her die.”
Daniel swallowed.
“I thought she was dead.”
“You told me you tried to catch her.”
“I did.”
Nora glanced at my bruised arms.
“Then why is she telling us you pushed her?”
“Because she’s confused!”
His voice echoed through the chapel.
Several people flinched.
He immediately lowered it.
“Because she’s traumatized.
Any of you would be.”
He turned toward me again.
“Claire, please.
Let’s get you home.
We can talk about all of this when you’ve rested.”
I looked at him.
“Home?”
“Of course.”
“The house where you were going to spend my inheritance?”
His face went rigid.
And for the first time since entering the chapel, I saw fear break through his performance.
Not fear for me.
Fear for himself.
A man near the front stood up.
I recognized him as Daniel’s uncle, Robert.
He had attended our wedding.
“Claire,” he said gently, “we’re all grateful you’re alive.
But this is a very serious accusation.”
“I know.”
“Are you certain about what happened?”
I looked at him.
“Absolutely.”
Daniel seized the opportunity.
“Uncle Robert, she’s been injured.
We need to get her medical help.”
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