A Journey from Bitterness to Truth

Chapter 2

The past few days had been a dreary parade of rain, and Rachel’s funeral was no exception. A light drizzle hung in the air as a procession of mourners followed her to her final resting place,

Yvan was adamant, driven by some deep–seated conviction that Matilda should kneet in the soggy earth before Rachel’s grave–as if he wanted her to kneel there until she joined the dead herself.

Matilda struggled against the weight of expectation and grief, but the sharp crack of a slap from a man’s hand echoed. “Don’t play the innocent with me; you’re the last person who has the right to!”

She winced in pain, but then, almost inexplicably, she began to laugh.

The sound of her laughter, thin and despairing, cut through the rain.

Yvan, heedless of anything else, lunged forward and kicked her squarely in the mouth.

Matilda tumbled backward, coughing up blood. Yvan’s polished shoe stepped into her line of sight. Looking up at him, an odd sense of detachment settled within her.

How cruel, she thought, to have ever loved such a man…

mistake was loving

“Don’t think for a second I’ll

you could do,” Yvan bellowed

in pain this time. She laughed again, her voice laced with bitterness, “I turned a blind eye to your affairs, to the scandals plastered across the newspapers as if I didn’t know. I’ve been as loyal as a dog, and what do I get? Do you even have a shred of decency? You think I wanted Rachel dead? What was she compared to me–Matilda Thompson of the Thompson family? In terms of family, education, social standing, she

true colors…” Yvan prodded her face with the tip of his shoe. “I’ve prepared a little surprise for you today: I wonder if

he spoke, a line of police appeared at the doorway.

could react, they swarmed her, pinned her down, and snapped handcuffs around

cuffs on her wrists, Matilda began to struggle

“Murderer! Murderer!”

And to think she’s from the

1200

Chapter

depths of

to be saddled with such a

and cameras converged on her, capturing every moment of her panic. Matilda’s face was ashen, her soul seemingly