Chapter 2 - Beneath the Marble
Adam’s vision blurred at the edges, the letters on the ivory page swimming in a sea of sterile gold chandelier light. His heart violently hammered against his ribs, sounding in his ears like distant thunder. He quickly folded the paper back against his palm, crushing it into his fist before Arthur or Lucas could read the terror washing across his face.
""Dad?"" Lucas asked softly. The boy’s brow furrowed, seeing the sudden, ghost-like pallor that drained every ounce of life from his father’s cheeks. ""Is it bad?""
""No,"" Adam managed to choke out. The word tasted like ashes. ""No, sweet boy. It’s just... your mother had so much she wanted to say.""
Arthur stepped forward from the threshold, hands resting neatly across his midsection, his demeanor an effortless mask of practiced sympathy. ""Mr. Vance. The mourners have begun to gather in the chapel. If you wish for Lucas to place the memento into the casket before we invite the guests in, we should proceed now.""
Adam looked down at the envelope in his pocket, then at Lucas. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to tear open the rest of the document, to read the notary seal, to expose the catastrophic fissure that had just ripped through the foundation of his existence. Seven years. Seven years of midnight feedings, scraped knees, building lego skyscrapers on the living room carpet, singing lullabies about distant oceans. Clara had smiled at him every single day. She had looked him in the eyes while she slipped away into the white fog of morphine, murmuring that he was the greatest father on earth.
""Come on,"" Adam said, taking Lucas’s hand. The child’s fingers were cold.
They walked down the wide hallway of the mortuary, past gold-framed mirrors and floral wreaths donated by city council members, business partners, and family friends. The chapel doors swung open with a muffled, heavy thud.
There lay Clara. In life, she had smelled of earth, damp moss, and sun-warmed skin. Now, painted under heavy mortuary powder, she looked like a wax doll in an alabaster casket. Lucas stepped up onto the small wooden viewing stool Arthur had provided.
May you like
The boy leaned over the casket rail. With astonishing gentleness, he slid his hand into the silk pocket sewn inside the lid, intending to leave Clara’s lavender scent sachet. But as Lucas pulled his hand back, his sleeve caught the delicate lace trim of Clara's cuff, pulling it back.
Adam moved forward to fix it, but his eyes locked onto something hidden inside the inner lining of the satin casket pillow—a small, silver key taped securely to the underside of Clara's headrest, accompanied by a small tag with Adam's handwriting, but dated three years prior.
