Chapter 2: The Bracelet and the Pearls

1

When Rachel cut her wrist, she didn’t hesitate for a second.

The ER doc said, “This cut’s so deep, nobody does that unless they mean it. Not even the tough ones.”

All the more so for Rachel, who had always been afraid of pain. The woman jumped if she stubbed her toe, and she'd cry over a paper cut. Usually, if she so much as scraped her skin, she’d wrap it up in tears, just to trick me into giving her homemade brownies.

I looked at Rachel in the casket. Aside from her face being a bit pale, she looked just like she was still alive. Her hands were folded, nails painted the soft pink she always chose for special occasions.

Her beloved husband stood beside the casket, a girl in pink at his side, holding the hand of a young boy who looked so much like Rachel. The boy stared at the floor, his shoes scuffed, his eyes rimmed red.

I looked the girl up and down, finally understanding why Rachel no longer wanted to stay in this world. She was too perfect, too poised—already an outsider in this broken story.

The girl approached me and offered a polite nod.

“My condolences, ma’am.” Her voice was calm, a practiced Southern sweetness that didn't quite reach her eyes.

I regarded her coldly, not telling her to rise, just staring at her slightly bent knees. In this world, we didn't bow or kneel for politicians, and certainly not for me, but the gesture was a strange, almost mocking kind of respect.

Sarah dipped her head, almost like she was curtsying at a debutante ball—awkward and out of place.

A staff member behind me quickly stepped forward and nudged the back of her knees. With a sharp thud, my brows finally relaxed a little. That little display was over; we all played our parts.

“Aunt Linda.”

Two voices called out. David wanted to step forward to help her up, but seeing my attitude, didn’t dare move. Mark, meanwhile, only gazed at the casket, as if oblivious to everything happening around him. The room felt heavy, weighted with all the things left unsaid.

But Sarah said nothing, bowing deeply.

“You have my respect, ma’am. If I overstepped, I’m sorry.” The words sounded formal, like she was reciting from some old etiquette book instead of standing in a Midwest funeral home. I narrowed my eyes; Sarah was indeed clever.

She knew I was furious, and no one could persuade me—especially not Mark and David. They would only make me angrier. Admitting fault, on the other hand, might catch me off guard. It was the sort of strategic surrender Rachel used to talk about, but Sarah played it like a card shark.

Rachel could never outplay her. Rachel played with open hands; Sarah kept her aces up her sleeve.

I took two steps forward, my shiny pumps treading on her delicate dress. Someone quickly brought a chair behind me, one of those creaky folding things from the back room, but I stayed standing—towering over Sarah as I surveyed the scene.

I lifted Sarah’s wrist. On it was a bright green bracelet.

The bracelet itself wasn’t especially valuable, but I recognized it as the prize David—Rachel’s seven-year-old child—had won at school. In front of all the other kids, he’d said he wanted to win this bracelet for his mom. I had instructed the teacher to award the bracelet to David.

Never did I expect to see it on Sarah’s wrist. The betrayal stung, sharp and petty and real.

I grabbed the bracelet and yanked it off her hand.

“Oops. Butterfingers. Don’t take it personal.” My voice was ice, and I didn’t care who heard.

Two angry red marks immediately appeared on Sarah’s fair skin. The welt rose fast, matching the fire in my gut.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Sarah bit her lip tightly, looking as pitiful as her name. Rachel could never resist this act.

Every time she was angry at me, as long as I made this face, no matter how furious she was, she’d end up smiling, and in that moment, I could coax anything I wanted out of her. It was our old dance, innocence versus fury, and I’d always let her win.

But what is Sarah compared to her? Nothing but a shadow trying to mimic the sun.

I reached out and touched her earlobe, from which hung a pair of large pearl earrings.

They were a wedding gift I had given Rachel on her marriage. Tiny details, engraved with initials only Rachel and I understood. I took them off without the slightest mercy. Blood trickled from Sarah’s ears. The pearls felt cold and slick, sticky with a smear of Sarah’s blood. I pocketed them anyway. David could no longer restrain himself and knelt beside her.

“The pearls were given by me to Aunt Sarah, and Mom agreed too. Please, Aunt Linda, don’t blame Aunt Sarah.” His voice trembled, desperate for my approval. He clutched the hem of my skirt like a child who wanted to believe in happy endings.

I played with the bloodstained pearls, my expression indifferent.

“What if I insist on blaming her?”

Without Rachel, David was nothing but a spoiled brat in my eyes. I rarely spoke to him so coldly. He stepped forward, trying to tug at my sleeve like he used to when he wanted to act cute.

I glared at him. The guard behind me immediately raised his arm, about to push David away.

“Hands off, kid. That’s the First Lady you’re grabbing.” The security detail's voice was sharp, more used to managing political crowds than funeral tantrums.

I ignored David, whose face had turned pale with fright, and waved for them to carry away Rachel’s casket. Mark seemed to awaken suddenly, moving to block the way.

“I won’t let anyone take Rachel away!”

Mark was, after all, a county official and closely connected to the governor. The guards dared not act against him. His badge still meant something in this town, even with tears on his cheeks.

No matter. I’ll do it myself.

I lunged at Mark without hesitation. The moment my hand touched him, something heavy struck my neck, and darkness swallowed me. Everything went sideways. My knees buckled. The world snapped to black.