As the final hymn ended and people began to stand, a man in a gray suit stepped forward. He looked to be in his late fifties, calm and deliberate, holding a leather briefcase.
“Excuse me,” he said, his voice carrying through the church. “My name is Daniel Hayes. I am Lily Reed’s attorney.”
Jason snapped upright. “Now? We’re doing this now?” he barked.
Mr. Hayes didn’t react. “Your wife left explicit instructions,” he replied evenly. “Her will is to be opened and read today, in front of her family—and in front of you.”
He opened his folder and fixed his gaze on Jason.
“There is a section Lily insisted be read aloud at her funeral.”
Every pair of eyes locked onto him as he unfolded a single sheet of paper, creased and worn as though it had been handled countless times.
“This is a personal statement Lily attached to her will,” he explained. “Written in her own hand, three weeks before her death.”
Jason shifted uneasily. Rachel tightened her grip on his arm.
Mr. Hayes began reading.
“If you are hearing this, I am no longer here. Jason, I know about Rachel. I’ve known far longer than you think.”
A gasp swept through the pews. My mother covered her mouth. Jason froze.
“I tried to forgive you for our baby’s sake. But every lie, every late night, chipped away at me until something inside died long before my body did. That is why I changed my will.”
