I watched my own funeral through a phone screen.

The hospital television had been turned off hours earlier, but Gabriel had returned with a tablet and a pair of headphones. He placed both on my bedside table without saying a word.

I knew what the video would show before he pressed play.

A church crowded with mourners. Flowers arranged around a polished casket. People speaking softly about my supposed tragic death.

Michael standing beside Ashley.

My husband had chosen a black suit I recognized from our fifth wedding anniversary. Ashley wore a fitted black dress and a string of pearls I’d once admired in a department-store window.

Michael’s arm rested around her waist.

She leaned toward him, whispering something that made him smile.

The sight was so ordinary that it hurt more than I expected. It looked like any other couple attending a funeral together.

Except the woman in the coffin was supposed to be me.

The camera moved toward Michael as he stepped up to the lectern.

“My wife was the heart of our home,” he began.

I almost laughed.

The heart of our home.

A few days earlier, he had been telling me to walk faster because he didn’t want to waste the afternoon. When I complained about the snow and the steep terrain, he called me dramatic.

When I asked whether we could turn around, he told me I had become weak since getting pregnant.

And when I fell, he had smiled.

Now he was standing before a church full of people, pretending to mourn me.

“I will spend the rest of my life remembering Emma,” he continued. “She was carrying our precious child, and the knowledge that I couldn’t save either of them is something I will never recover from.”

I gripped the blanket.

“He’s lying,” I whispered.

Gabriel sat beside me.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t understand. He knows exactly what he did. He heard me crying. He looked down at me while I was bleeding.”

My voice broke.

“He left me there.”

Gabriel reached for my hand, but I pulled away.

“I don’t need sympathy.”

“You deserve more than sympathy.”

“I need him to pay.”

For the first time since I’d met him, Gabriel’s expression became completely still.

“Then we’ll make sure the truth reaches the right people.”

On the screen, Michael lowered his head. Several mourners approached to comfort him.

Ashley remained close.

When they thought nobody was watching, she took his hand.

My husband squeezed her fingers.

I stopped the video.

“I can’t watch this.”

Gabriel put the tablet away.

“Then we won’t.”

“Why did you bring it?”

“Because I didn’t want you learning about it from someone who might misunderstand the situation.”

I stared at him.

“Did the police let him arrange a funeral without a body?”

“According to Detective Ortiz, the ceremony was presented as a memorial service. Michael claimed your remains couldn’t be recovered because of the terrain and weather.”

“So the coffin is empty.”

“That is what the preliminary information suggests.”

I swallowed hard.

“He’s burying an empty box and expecting fifty million dollars.”

“Possibly.”

“Then why isn’t he already in handcuffs?”

“Because suspicion isn’t proof of everything we need to prove. The policy has to be investigated. His actions on the mountain have to be established, and the authorities need evidence that holds up in court.”

I hated how reasonable that sounded.

I wanted Michael dragged out of the church in front of everyone who had believed his performance.

Instead, I was in a hospital bed with broken ribs, a fractured wrist, and a newborn son I had barely seen.

“Can I see Noah now?”

Gabriel stood.

“I’ll speak to the nurse.”

When he returned, a nurse arrived with a wheelchair. She helped me sit up, then carefully wrapped a warm blanket around my shoulders.

The trip to the neonatal intensive care unit felt longer than the journey down the mountain.

My son was in a small incubator near the nurses’ station. A thin tube ran beneath his nose, and several wires were attached to his chest.

He was so tiny.

His skin was pink, and his fists were curled beside his face. His dark hair reminded me of Michael’s, a detail I resented myself for noticing.

I pressed my fingers against the incubator wall.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

His eyelids fluttered.

A nurse stood beside me.

“He was delivered at thirty-four weeks. Considering the trauma you experienced, we’re pleased with his progress, but the next few days are important.”

“Can I hold him?”

“Not just yet. We’ll help you have skin-to-skin contact as soon as he’s stable enough.”

I nodded, fighting tears.

“I haven’t even chosen his middle name.”

“There’s time.”

“No,” I whispered. “I almost didn’t have time.”

The nurse rested a hand on my shoulder.