I Worked 18 Years for His Son, He Pushed Me Off a Roof for Her Chapter 03

I Worked 18 Years for His Son, He Pushed Me Off a Roof for Her Chapter 03

I lunged for the agreement, clawing at the paper. Arthur yanked me back, and my forehead smashed into the edge of the coffin.

“You’re signing it!” His finger jabbed in my face.

“This family treated you like a queen. You killed our son — and now you want to leave us with nothing? You ungrateful, heartless bitch! After everything we’ve done for you! If I’d known what you really were, I never would’ve let Julian anywhere near you!”

Pain split through my forehead, white-hot and electric. But through it — muffled, barely there — I heard a laugh coming from inside the coffin.

Julian. Laughing at me from inside the coffin. Because in his version of this story, I’d never fight back — I’d follow his script straight into the grave.

My chest felt like it was caving in. But through the haze, something caught my eye — Martha pulling the baby from Fiona’s arms, her face softening with tenderness.

She cupped the baby’s tiny face and whispered, “…Don’t be scared… we found you a bone marrow match…”

The ground dropped out from under me.

Blood ran down my forehead and into my eyes. I didn’t blink. I watched Martha.

Their story was that Julian had found the baby just days ago. This was supposed to be the first time Martha had ever seen this child.

So how did she already know he was sick? How did she know he needed a marrow transplant?

They were all in on it. Every single one of them had known from the start.

The three of them — Julian, Martha, Arthur — plus Fiona. This funeral was never about grief. It was about turning me into a living blood bank for their kid.

In my last life, I worked myself down to nothing but skin and bones just to pay those medical bills. I lost the baby — my baby — to a miscarriage bought with overtime.

When my grandmother Eleanor died, I wasn’t there. Her only granddaughter, and I didn’t make it in time to say goodbye.

And the last thing I ever saw — the three of them standing over me, smiling, calling me an idiot.

Fury erupted in me. But somewhere beneath it, my mind went cold and perfectly still.

They needed someone to bleed for that kid — and they needed their hands to look clean. That was the whole game.

Fine. Then I’d burn the whole performance down.

I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, swallowed everything I was feeling, and dialed 911.

My eyes drifted to the coffin. I kept my voice low.

“I have a question. When, exactly, did Julian die? And has anyone here actually seen a death certificate?”

“What are you getting at?” Arthur shot back.

“Julian pushed you out of the way when that rebar came down at the construction site. It hit him instead — went straight through his head!”

His voice cracked. “He was covering you with his own body right up until the end!”

“Is that so.” I let the words hang.

“Funny thing, though. I was knocked out cold. When I woke up, nobody let me see the body. They brought me straight to the funeral home. Doesn’t that seem a little rushed to anyone else?”

A ripple went through the room. The relatives exchanged glances.

“Come to think of it — I haven’t seen the body either.”

“No death certificate, now that you mention it.”

“It was pretty quick, wasn’t it? Hospital to coffin, just like that.”

Something sharp and cold flashed across Fiona’s face. She passed the baby off to the nearest relative, turned, and slipped out.

Martha’s voice went shrill. “A steel rebar went through my son’s head — do you have any idea what that looks like? What mother could bear to see that?”

Arthur stepped in. “He died a violent death — of course we wanted to lay him to rest quickly. You think someone would fake their own son’s death?”

Heads nodded around the room.

“She’s right — nobody would fake something like that.”

“I saw someone in there. Caught a glimpse when they closed the lid.”

“What exactly is Clara trying to say?”

I smiled — the kind of smile that had nothing to do with warmth. “I’m his wife. Custom says I get to see him one last time before they put him in the ground. To say goodbye — properly.”

“So I’m opening that casket. Right now.”