I Found His Marriage Certificate In His Suit Pocket Chapter 09

I Found His Marriage Certificate In His Suit Pocket Chapter 09

‘Sophie.”

Ethan called out to me softly, his voice thick with agony. He slipped a hand into his pocket and slowly pulled out a ring

box.

When he opened it, a two-carat diamond ring blazed brightly, even in the dim, gray room.

“Do you remember the year your mom passed? We were seniors in college. You lay in my arms, crying until you couldn’t

breathe, saying you had no family left anymore. That day. I held you and promised I’d marry you someday, build a new

home for you.”

“Sophie, I’m here to keep that promise.”

Outside the window, white funeral papers fluttered down with the wind.

My vision swam.

Blinded by rage, a metallic taste of blood rose in my throat.

I swatted the ring box out of his hand with all my strength.

The diamond ring, worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, skittered across the floor, vanishing into a dark corner, lost to

sight.

“We were together for eight years. Eight whole years, and you never once thought about marrying me.”

“Now my grandmother’s dead, killed by your little lover. Her body’s still cold, waiting to be laid to rest, and you choose

this moment to propose? Are you doing this just to torment me?”

‘Ethan Cole, you’re a monster.”

A gust of wind swept through the room, carrying in white memorial flowers that settled straight on Ethan’s face.

He scrambled to brush them away, his complexion paler than the petals themselves.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

From the moment he’d lost track of Sophie, he’d been unraveling.

He’d gone to her boutique-closed up tight.

He’d checked with her friends-they hadn’t seen her.

He’d scoured every corner of New York City, and there was no sign of her anywhere.

Then he’d gone to New Haven, and by some miracle, he’d found her.

He’d been in such a desperate hurry-to tell her he’d gotten divorced, to make amends for that marriage proposal eight years too late.

So desperate that he’d forgotten, for a moment, that today was her grandmother’s funeral.

Ethan struck himself hard across the cheek, once, twice.

‘I’m so sorry, Sophie. I deserve to die.”

The March wind still bit with cold.

I pulled my coat tighter around me and turned for the door.

“You’re right. You do deserve to die.”

“I have to see my grandmother to her final resting place. Get out of my sight.”

“If the dead really have spirits, my grandmother would never want to lay eyes on something as filthy as you.”

Ethan’s head shot up, his eyes clinging to mine, desperate.

He searched them frantically for a flicker of longing, any shred of what they’d once had.

But there was nothing.

The way I looked at him was filled with nothing but bottomless hatred, raw disgust, and bitter irritation.

Ethan closed his eyes, his face crumpling in despair.

He’d broken Sophie beyond repair this time.

She would never forgive him.

Ethan let out a bitter, hollow laugh.

Why would she?

Who could ever love someone who’d killed their closest family member?

No one. They’d wish him dead.

As he left. Ethan spotted the diamond ring, lying forgotten in the corner.

He didn’t pick it up.

Let it stay here forever.

Ethan slipped away without a sound.

I joined the funeral procession, walking beside my grandmother’s casket to her final resting place.

When I’d finished all the arrangements in the small town, I booked a flight back to New York.

That night. I mailed a formal whistleblower letter to Columbia University.

I accused Ethan Cole of academic misconduct, of academic misconduct-for putting his own research under another woman’s name-all in writing, with my full name attached.