I let go of the coffin and stumbled forward, the rain instantly plastering my hair to my face. I reached out, my trembling hand grazing the wet sleeve of Vivian’s expensive wool coat.
“Vivian,” I whispered, my voice cracking, desperate for the woman who was about to become my child’s grandmother to look at me. “Vivian, please. My water just broke.”
Vivian slowly turned her head. Through the black lace of her veil, I saw her eyes. They were not filled with concern, nor panic, nor even basic human pity. They were flat, cold, and entirely devoid of human warmth.
She did not reach out to support me. She actually took a half-step back, as if my bodily fluids might somehow tarnish her Italian leather boots.
“We are grieving, Claire,” Vivian scoffed, her voice a sharp, venomous hiss designed to ensure the other mourners could not hear her cruelty. “This is my son’s moment. Do not make a scene. Call a taxi yourself.”
I stared at her, the sheer, breathtaking sociopathy of her words failing to compute in my agonizingly pained mind. I turned my head toward Derek, silently begging him for help.
Derek sighed, shooting me a look of profound, unadulterated annoyance. He tapped the glass of his expensive watch. “Not tonight, Claire,” he muttered. “I have meetings with the estate lawyers in an hour. Just call an Uber. You’ll be fine.”
I looked around at the extended relatives, the aunts and cousins standing just a few feet away. They all averted their eyes, staring resolutely at the wet grass, too cowardly to intervene, too terrified of losing Vivian’s financial favor to help a widowed woman in labor.
