“I’ve already received medical care,” I said.
He ignored me.
“She isn’t thinking clearly.”
“Stop.”
He kept talking.
“She almost drowned.
Imagine what that does to someone—”
“Daniel.”
“She’s confused, and we need to be patient—”
“Daniel!”
My voice rang through the chapel.
He stopped.
I looked at him for a long moment.
Then I said, very slowly, “I remember every word you said before you pushed me.”
His face went white.
I could see his fingers trembling.
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Don’t I?”
I took one careful step toward him.
“You stood behind me.
You wrapped your arms around my waist.”
He didn’t move.
“You put your hands over Lily.”
A woman near the aisle began crying.
I kept speaking.
“For a moment, I thought you were being affectionate.
I thought you were holding us because you loved us.”
My own voice trembled.
I swallowed and continued.
“Then you moved your hands to my arms.”
Daniel shook his head.
“That’s not—”
“And you whispered something.”
His lips parted.
I watched him carefully.
“You remember, don’t you?”
He stared at me.
I could see him searching for a way out.
I didn’t give him one.
“You said, ‘Go in peace, sweetheart.
I’ll take good care of your inheritance.’”
A shocked whisper swept through the room.
Someone gasped.
Daniel looked toward the front doors.
Then toward Detective Ortiz.
Then back at me.
His face had turned a sickly shade of gray.
“That’s a lie.”
I nodded.
“Then tell them what you really said.”
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
“Tell them, Daniel.”
“I don’t remember.”
“You remember.”
“Claire, stop.”
“Why?
Because I’m not supposed to be alive to repeat it?”
He took a step toward me.
Detective Ortiz moved slightly between us.
“Sir.”
Daniel stopped.
His eyes were now burning with anger.
The mask was cracking.
And underneath it, I saw the man who had gripped my arms on the cliff.
“You’ve always done this,” he snapped.
I stared at him.
“Done what?”
“Made everything difficult.”
The words hung in the air.
He seemed to realize he’d said too much.
He shook his head.
“That’s not what I mean.”
But I knew that tone.
It was the voice he used when he was tired of pretending to be patient.
The voice I had heard whenever I refused to sign a document or transfer money into a joint account.
I looked around the chapel.
“Do you know what he asked me on the drive to Silver Gorge?”
Daniel glared at me.
“Claire.”
“He asked whether the attorney had finished handling my mother’s estate.”
“That’s normal.
We’re married.”
“He wanted to know when he could access the money.”
“That’s not true.”
“He wanted me to put more of it into accounts he controlled.”
“Because we’re a family!”
His voice rose again.
I didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, I rested both hands over my stomach.
“And when I told him that money was supposed to protect our daughter, he became angry.”
Daniel’s breathing grew shallow.
“That’s enough.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“You decided it would be easier to take everything if I wasn’t there to say no.”
“Shut up!”
The shout thundered through the room.
Several people recoiled.
Nora stepped closer to me.
I didn’t move.
For a moment, Daniel looked almost as surprised as everyone else by the sound of his own voice.
Then he lifted a trembling hand to his forehead.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly.
“I’m under a lot of stress.”
I looked at him.
“Because your wife is alive?”
He froze.
And the room waited.
I wish I could say I felt triumphant.
I didn’t.
I felt sick.
The man in front of me was still someone I had loved.
Someone whose hand I’d held through sleepless nights.
Someone who had once sat beside me in a doctor’s office and cried when we heard our daughter’s heartbeat.
Watching his face twist with rage didn’t erase those memories.
It made them hurt more.
“Why?”
I asked softly.
Daniel stared at me.
“What?”
“Why did you do it?”
He swallowed.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Then why did you talk about my inheritance before you pushed me?”
“I didn’t push you!”
His voice cracked.
I looked straight into his eyes.
“You didn’t even know I could swim.”
Something flickered across his face.
Confusion.
Then disbelief.
“What?”
“I used to be a competitive swimmer.”
He blinked.
I could see him searching his memory.
“For years,” I continued.
“I trained six days a week.
I competed in college.
I spent more time in the water than I did anywhere else.”
“Claire…”
“You knew I had been on a swim team.
But you never asked about it.”
He stared at me.
“I told you about my coach.
About my races.
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