I stepped forward, wanting to comfort him, reaching out to place my hand on his shoulder. But before I could touch him, he violently threw me off.
The words I wanted to say got stuck in my throat. I didn’t know how to start or how to explain everything that had happened.
Zachary suddenly turned, grabbed my hair, and yanked me toward Zoey’s coffin.
“You’re hurting me, Zach,” I gasped.
I clutched at his hand, desperately trying to break free, kicking my legs with all the strength I had left. But Zachary didn’t even flinch.
With one swift motion, he hurled me in front of the coffin.
My forehead slammed against its edge, and warm blood began to seep out.
“How dare you come to Zoey’s funeral?” he roared. “What face do you have to stand here in front of her?! When the police questioned you, why didn’t you speak up? The surveillance footage clearly shows your back! Who are you protecting?”
I trembled, staring at him, but no words came out.
The scene began to blur, and the crowd watching grew more agitated.
“She’s just pretending! She wants us to see her suffer at Zachary’s hands so we’ll pity her—ugh! What a scheming bitch!”
“She deserves to die!”
Their insults echoed as the scene shifted again.