Chapter 2 - The Missing Funeral
I stared at my mother, my mind flatly refusing to process her words.
That couldn't be true.
It was physically impossible.
I had spoken to Claire on a video call the previous night at ten o'clock.
She had been glowing, laughing softly as she rotated her phone screen to show me the completed nursery. She showed me the tiny blue wool blanket folded over the crib railing.
She showed me the packed hospital overnight bag resting right beside our bedroom door.
She had giggled when she told me our unborn baby boy kicked every time he heard my voice through the phone speaker.
She hadn't been sick.
She hadn't been in labor.
She hadn't even complained of a mild headache.
"She was perfectly fine last night, Mom," I whispered, taking an unsteady step forward. "We talked for an hour."
Nathan took another slow sip of his whiskey, his eyes fixed on the floor. "You were thousands of miles away, brother. Medical situations change quickly."
"Which hospital?" I demanded, my voice suddenly rising. "Which hospital did you take her to?"
Silence filled the grand room.
"What doctor treated her?!" I roared.
Still nothing. Neither of them met my gaze.
That was when my former medical training kicked in, and I started noticing the glaring details.
The living room was filled with expensive arrangement baskets of white lilies, but there were no relatives present.
No neighbors.
No priest.
No attending physician.
Not even a single member of Claire's family had been notified.
There were no sympathy cards sitting on the side tables. No framed memorial photographs set up.
Nothing about this room felt like a real, grief-stricken funeral.
May you like
It felt staged.
Like a theater set built exclusively for my arrival.
