They Sent Me To Prison For Her, I Bought A Grave For Me Chapter 09

They Sent Me To Prison For Her, I Bought A Grave For Me Chapter 09

Late that night, a black sedan pulled up outside Larkmeadow Memorial Park.

Crispin was out of the car before it had fully stopped. Ignoring the employees who tried to block him, he pushed his way into the security office.

The footage showed Mirelle staggering past the cemetery gates before bending over and vomiting blood onto the pavement.

Crispin’s knees nearly gave out.

Blood rose in his own throat, and he coughed it onto the floor.

Ephraim caught him before he fell. Then both men looked back at the monitor.

A man had rushed into frame and carried Mirelle away.

The moment they saw his face, they froze.

I dreamed about Ansel again.

After I left prison, I developed severe depression. But at the cemetery, I always pretended to be cheerful because I didn’t want anyone to worry about me.

Ansel Morcant lived in the apartment next to mine.

He was always pale, and he moved so quietly that I sometimes didn’t hear him coming.

One night, I sat alone with a razor pressed to my wrist, ready to end everything.

Then someone knocked on my door.

When I opened it, Ansel stood in the hallway.

“Do you have any water?” he asked softly. “My power’s out.”

I stared at him for a moment, then took a bottle of spring water from the refrigerator.

I never used glasses or drank from the faucet anymore.

Prison had taken that from me too.

Ansel accepted the bottle.

“Can I come in for a minute?”

I knew the stories about women who let strange men into their homes.

But I was so lonely.

I stepped aside.

Ansel didn’t sit down. His attention went straight to the ceiling light that had been broken for

months.

I followed his gaze.

I couldn’t afford to have it repaired, and I had no idea how to fix it myself, so I had simply learned to

live in the dark.

Ansel said nothing. He went back to his apartment, returned with a toolbox, and repaired it.

When the room filled with light, he glanced around.

“You never turn any lights on. I was starting to think a ghost lived here.”

I managed the faintest smile.

Before leaving, he studied my face.

“You should get outside more. You’re way too pale.”

I didn’t tell him I was sick.

The people closest to me hadn’t cared. Why would a stranger?

After that, Ansel began bringing me small things.

Potted plant. Dried flowers. Little decorations for my empty shelves.

He said a home needed signs of life or the loneliness would settle in for good.

Sometimes he picked me up after work at the cemetery and claimed he had been passing by.

That was how I learned he was seriously ill too.

One afternoon, he received a bonus and made a full dinner to celebrate.

We toasted with water.

Neither of us could drink. Alcohol triggered his heart condition, and my stomach couldn’t tolerate

That night, Ansel looked at me across the table and smiled.

“I haven’t had a sleepless night since I met you.

I smiled back.

Then, somehow, I started crying.

On the day he died, he held my hand with what little strength he had left.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “Keep living. The people who hurt you will pay for what they did.

He never asked about my past.

Somehow, he understood it anyway.

Ansel had no family, so I arranged his funeral myself.

After he was gone, I stopped turning on the light he had repaired.

He had brought light into that apartment. Without him, it no longer felt like mine to switch on.

I went back to eating alone, working alone, and sitting awake until sunrise.

I moved through each day like there was nothing left inside me.

Then I came down with a fever.

For three days, I drifted in and out of consciousness. At some point, a warm palm rested against my

forehead.

I forced my eyes open.

Through my blurred vision, I saw Ansel’s face.

“Ansel,” I whispered. “Did I finally come to find you?”

The man gave a quiet laugh.

“You’re young and beautiful. Even if Ansel was ready to take you, I wouldn’t let him.”

My vision slowly cleared.

He wasn’t Ansel.

But the resemblance was striking.

The man withdrew his hand and smiled.

“Your fever finally broke. Three straight days: You really don’t make things easy.”

I stared at him, confused.

“I’m Leith Armitage,” he said. “Ansel and I were like brothers.”