With Elena, it was different. It was real.
He told her she was the love he’d been waiting for his entire life. He promised her they would find a way to be together properly.
But Elena was practical. She told him she was going to leave town. It was the only way to end the mess before it destroyed everyone. She couldn’t bear to stay and watch him go home to another woman every night.
Andrew told her he’d follow her to the ends of the earth. He couldn’t go back to his old life now. But fate had a different plan.
That very night, Andrew suffered a massive, sudden heart attack in his sleep. When Elena heard the news the next morning, she ran to his house, ignoring the stares of the neighbors.
She stopped at the gate when she saw Susan. The widow’s eyes were cold, filled with a venom that stopped Elena in her tracks. Susan whispered that she knew—she had always known—and she would never forgive her.
Susan blamed Elena for his death, saying the stress of the “filth” they were doing had killed him. Elena couldn’t even find the words to defend herself.
At the funeral, Elena stood at the very back of the cemetery, a ghost among the mourners. She had no official right to grieve him. As the service ended, Susan walked straight up to her.
In a voice loud enough for the neighbors to hear, Susan told her she wouldn’t be around much longer. She told Elena she had tucked a photograph of her into Andrew’s casket before they closed it.
“He couldn’t live without you,” Susan hissed, “so I sent you with him. You’re his now. You’re already dead; you just don’t know it yet.” Elena turned pale, trembling at the sheer malice of the gesture.
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