The Widower (18+) | [Complete]

Twenty-Nine

A/N: TRIGGER WARNING: The following chapter contains topics some may find triggering and topics for which some may have moral or ethical objections.  If you are sensitive to the topics of death, loss, disease, please skip to the bottom of this chapter for a less triggering summary. 

Please know that I have experienced this from both perspectives. I approach every part of this chapter from a sincere and personally painful place.

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"Oh my God, Augustine!" I cried. "If you didn't do it, just say no! Why are you not saying no?!"

"It's . . . not as simple as that."

I could barely breathe. "It's a yes or no question! Just say no. Please, say no!"

"I did not murder my wife!" he yelled back.

"Then why can't you say no?" I asked, my heart still lodged in my throat. "Why can't you say no?!"

His face twisted with rage. "Do you know what it feels like to love someone unconditionally?" he said, his tone harsh and threatening. "To love them so much you would do anything for them?"

I stared him in the eyes. "Yes."

"Anything?" he asked again. "Even if that meant helping them die?"

I blinked a few times, the pieces falling into place after his words settled on my ears. My pounding heart slowed to a guilty thud. "Shit. Augustine, I'm so sor—"

"Get out."

"I didn't mean to—"

"Get out!" he roared. The fear and pain behind his expression—so much like Matthew's—tore my heart to shreds.

He stepped toward me and I scrambled through the door to escape his anger. He slammed it loudly behind me. Inside the room, I heard things crashing and things shattering against the walls. I slid down the wall to the floor and covered my mouth to muffle my sobs.

When the sounds stopped and another door slammed, I left him alone, knowing that was the last thing I should have done.

. . .

Hours later, unable to sleep or be alone with myself, I busied myself by getting my bags ready for tomorrow's move. My hands shook like leaves. I wiped my tears with the back of my hand and tried to calm myself enough to fasten the buckle together.

I wasn't sure if we should still go, or if he could. The only thing keeping me sane was knowing I would get to see Crystal once we got there. I needed her—needed to hear someone tell me I wasn't the monster I felt I was. More than that, I needed Augustine to know that I was sorry, that I understood, and that I still cared for him.

But I didn't know if he'd even talk to me. All I knew was that if I didn't try, it was going to wreck me.

I made my journey down to the ground floor. My pace slowed to a creep the closer I came to his door. When I found it cracked open, I started to feel hopeful. But when I went inside, all that changed.

The floor was covered in strewn items and bits of broken glass. His bedroom door ajar as well. I tiptoed over and peeked inside only to find it empty. He wasn't there. My anxiety worsened.

I left the room, careful to avoid the glass. In the room down the hall, Colin stood with the butler and some of the other staff. He saw me approaching and looked at me with a worried expression.

The butler turned around, gaining a look of surprise when he saw me. I had forgotten I had been crying for hours. My face must have looked ridiculous. "Sorry. I was looking for Mr. Montgomery," I said to Colin. I didn't have the energy to deflect the butler's judgments. "Have you seen him?"