Chapter 128
Chapter 128
Elena’s POV:
I stared blankly at the polished mahogany coffin before me, its dark, glossy surface reflecting the muted light of the overcast sky. My mind felt numb, dazed, as I listened to the low, mournful wails of the elderly women huddled together nearby.
A week. An entire week had passed since I had last seen Mielle alive, her hopeful smile as she thanked me for helping her. It felt utterly surreal, like some kind of twisted nightmare I couldn’t seem to wake up from.
The person who I had known for such a short time, yet with whom I had shared such a profound and intimate connection, now lay before me, still and lifeless, encased in this cold, unyielding box. Mielle. Was dead.
Car accident. The words echoed in my mind. The very next day after I had left her in Velhaven, while she was headed to the hospital in Maxcester City for the abortion, a speeding car had crashed into hers. The driver and Mielle both had died on impact, their lives tragically cut short in a senseless instant.
From that horrifying phone call from the paramedic that had shattered my peace until this very moment, only one question had kept reiterating in my mind, a relentless, nagging query that offered no solace. How? How could coincidences like this truly happen? It felt too cruel, too deliberate, too… wrong.
I clenched my fists at my sides, my nails digging into the soft skin of my palms. I had been frantically contacting Mielle ever since she had returned to Velhaven, sending her messages, leaving voicemails, desperate to know she was okay, to offer her further support. But she hadn’t been picking up, my calls going straight to voicemail, each unanswered attempt fueling my growing unease. The next time I had heard a voice on her phone, it had been a calm, professional tone on the other end of the line, identifying themselves as a paramedic.
Frankie Hudson had been the name of the driver, a young man barely out of his twenties according to the brief, impersonal report. Driving under the influence. But ironically, he’d survived and was currently hospitalized. A police investigation was reportedly being carried out.
Mielle’s mother now knew about the pregnancy; the autopsy report had revealed everything. But from what little I had heard, her mother hadn’t reacted with the expected disgust or anger. Only a raw, inconsolable grief for the loss of her only daughter.
Who wouldn’t be devastated? Regardless of the circumstances surrounding the pregnancy, a mother had lost her child.
I couldn’t think clearly as the funeral service carried on, the somber words of the priest washing over me in a meaningless drone. I listened to Mielle’s brother, Norman, deliver a heartbreakingly beautiful eulogy from the small stage, his voice cracking with emotion as he spoke of her kindness, her talent, her dreams that would now never be realized.
Around me, the people who had come to pay their respects – university friends, former teachers, neighbors – some whispered amongst themselves, their faces etched with sadness, while others openly wiped away their tears. Among the mourners, my eyes landed on one particular person, a figure who seemed utterly out of place amidst the quiet grief.
Michael.
Why was he here? He barely knew Mielle, their only interaction would have been a brief, unpleasant one at Dmitri’s party, as far as I was aware. A surge of anger and confusion filled my veins. I desperately wanted to march right up to him and
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Chapter 128
demand an explanation, to understand why he felt he had any right to be here, at Mielle’s final farewell.
I had cried. But now, my tear ducts seemed to have run dry, leaving behind a hollow ache in my chest,
I stood at the very back, watching as the ceremony came to an end and the polished coffin was slowly lowered into the freshly dug earth, a warm hand gently landed on my shoulders. I flinched instinctively, my body still on edge, and turned around to face the unexpected touch.
“Dmitri?” I scowled, immediately shrugging his hand away from me. “How… dare you come here?” I questioned, my voice low and laced with a venomous fury.
“Shhh,” Dmitri said, his voice surprisingly devoid of anger, replaced by a hesitant, almost melancholic tone. Was that… sadness I saw flickering in his eyes?
“Why. Are. You. Here?” I enunciated each word slowly, my gaze unwavering, and he just frowned, looking down at me, his expression troubled. “She wasn’t a complete stranger to me, you know, Elena. And why the hell are you looking at me like that?” Dmitri questioned, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice.
I didn’t know if the other mourners were watching us, if their hushed whispers were now directed at our unfolding confrontation, but I couldn’t stop myself from blurting out the truth. “How else am I supposed to look at you, Dmitri? This is all your fucking fault!” I sneered, jabbing him hard in the chest with my finger. He grabbed my hand, his grip surprisingly tight, and quickly glanced around at the few remaining guests who were now openly staring. “Why are you creating a scene, Elena? How the hell is any of this my fault?!”
“Because you didn’t sign the papers, you heartless bastard! If you had only just done it, then she… she…” My voice. cracked, the overwhelming grief threatening to drown me. She would have been alive. Mielle would still be alive. She wouldn’t have gone to that hospital, and she wouldn’t have been killed in such a senseless, horrific way.
Dmitri’s eyes went comically wide, a flash of sudden apprehension flickering in their depths. He tried to pull me away from the small gathering, offering a weak, insincere smile at the remaining guests who were openly staring at our escalating argument. He shook his head slightly, his grip tightening on my arm. “I’m sorry, everyone. She’s just… upset,” he said, directing the last part specifically at one particular elderly woman who was watching us with undisguised disapproval.
“I am not just upset, Dmitri! I am angry! How selfish can you possibly be?!” I yanked my hand away from his grasp, the physical contact feeling repulsive.
“Elena, enough!” Dmitri hissed, his composure finally starting to crack, a hint of genuine anger coloring his tone. That’s when another voice cut in. “Who are you?” I turned to look at Mielle’s brother, Norman, his face pale and drawn with sorrow. I had spoken to him briefly earlier, introducing myself as a friend of Mielle’s from university, so this question was undoubtedly directed at Dmitri.
Dmitri let go of my arm, straightening his posture, attempting to regain some semblance of composure under Norman’s intense gaze. “Ah. I am… a friend of Mielle’s. Dmitri Vetrov,” he introduced himself, extending a hand towards Norman in a gesture of what I could only assume was meant to convey sympathy. “I… I knew her from…”
Norman’s expression remained impassive, his eyes fixed on Dmitri with an unwavering intensity. He made no move to take Dmitri’s offered hand. “You’re the father of her child?”
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