My husband left my father’s funeral to travel with his mistress. But at 3 a.m. I received a message from my father: “my daughter it’s me, dad. Come to the cemetery immediately and very quietly.”

Before I could open it, headlights cut through the darkness at the cemetery gate. A car rolled in slowly and stopped nearby.

Lucy’s face drained of color. “We need to leave.”

The driver’s door opened. Brian stepped out. He did not look surprised to see me there. He looked furious.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“What are you doing here?” I asked back.

His eyes flicked to Lucy. “You should not be listening to her.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“She is unstable,” he snapped.

“That is not true,” Lucy said. “They tried to silence me.”

Brian’s jaw tightened. The pieces clicked together in my mind with sickening clarity.

His secret trips. His private visits to my father. His complete lack of grief.

“What did you say to my father?” I asked quietly.

“He did not know what he was talking about,” Brian replied.

That answer terrified me more than any confession could have.

“He told me to help you leave me,” Brian said suddenly. “He wanted to turn you against me.”

“He was protecting me,” I whispered.

Brian stepped closer. “You are coming home with me.”

“No,” I said.