When I walked out of the funeral home, her urn cradled against my chest, the numbness began to fade.
Something else took its place. Cold. Calculated.
Fury.
I called a lawyer friend. Filed two lawsuits.
One for divorce.
The other to sue Olivia Swanson for illegal asset disposal. The house was mine; she had no right to sell it. I hired a security team to forcibly evict the new "owners" from my property.
I had just finished these arrangements, preparing to leave the city for good, when my phone rang.
The police.
"Mr. Dickerson," the officer said. "We've found him. The culprit who raped your wife years ago."
"Send me the photo."
My voice was devoid of emotion.
When the image loaded, a cruel smile touched my lips.
*Olivia Swanson.*
I stared at the face on my screen.
*I hope you can maintain your composure when you see who really destroyed you.*
I instructed the police to notify Olivia directly. Then I turned off my phone, placed Mom's ashes in the passenger seat, and drove away.
I didn't look back.
When the police found Olivia, she was still in Spencer Delgado's bed.
"Have you found the man?" She sat up, pulling the sheets around her.