Anne's POV
The weeks after the funeral blurred into a haze of grief and routine. I moved through the motions—making breakfast for Shelley and Dustin, answering condolence calls, sorting through Marcus's things—while a storm raged inside me. Every corner of the house held a memory of him: the armchair where he'd read to the kids, the coffee mug he'd always used, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the closet.
And yet, every memory was tainted by the secret I carried—the affair with Liam that had fractured my heart long before Marcus's death. I stood in the bedroom, clutching the red dress he'd bought for me, the one I'd found among the wreckage of his car. It was untouched, pristine, a vibrant contrast to the broken toys and crumpled letter. I held it against my chest, imagining Marcus picking it out, picturing me wearing it for our anniversary. The thought was a knife, twisting deeper with every breath. I'd been so angry with him for so long, but he'd been planning to come home. To make things right.
"Mom?" Shelley's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. She stood in the doorway, her blue eyes wide and searching, clutching a stuffed bunny Marcus had given her years ago.
"Hey, sweetie," I said, quickly wiping my eyes and setting the dress on the bed. "What's up?"
She hesitated, twisting the bunny's ear. "Can we play Daddy's record? The one from the car?"
My heart clenched. The vinyl player, another gift from Marcus, sat on the dresser, gleaming under the soft morning light. I hadn't had the courage to touch it since bringing it home, to be honest I had completely forgotten about it.
"Sure, honey," I said, forcing a smile. "Let's do it."
We walked to the living room, Dustin trailing behind, his toy police car tucked under his arm. I set up the player, my hands trembling as I slid the record from its sleeve. The needle touched down, and a soft, jazzy melody filled the room—Ella Fitzgerald, one of Marcus's favorites. The kids sat on the couch, their small faces brightening for the first time in days.
"Daddy used to sing this," Dustin said, his voice small but certain. "He'd dance with you, right, Mom?"
I nodded, my throat tight. "Yeah, he did."
I could almost see Marcus now, twirling me in the kitchen on one of those rare nights he was home, his laughter warm and unguarded. The memory was so vivid it hurt.
Shelley slid closer, resting her head on my shoulder. "I miss him."
"Me too," I whispered, pulling them both into my arms. We sat there, letting the music wash over us, a fragile tether to the man we'd lost. But even in that moment of connection, my thoughts drifted to Liam. He'd texted me last night, checking in, offering to come over. I hadn't responded. How could I? Every time I thought of him, I saw Marcus's face, his words from the letter echoing: You've given me a life beyond what I ever thought possible. I'd betrayed that life, and the guilt was a weight I couldn't shake.The doorbell rang, shattering the moment.
Shelley looked up, hopeful. "Is that Aunt May?"
"I'll check," I said, kissing her forehead before heading to the door. My heart sank when I saw Liam standing there, his dark coat dusted with snow, his green eyes piercing through the morning chill.
"Anne," he said, his voice low and warm, like a fire I wasn't sure I could resist. "I was worried about you."
I crossed my arms, glancing back to make sure the kids couldn't hear. "You shouldn't be here, Liam. Not now."
"I know you're hurting. Let me help."
I shook my head, my voice trembling. "You don't get it. Every time I look at you, I see everything I did wrong. I cheated on him, Liam. While he was out there, planning our anniversary, buying gifts for our kids, I was with you."
His eyes softened, I could have sworn I saw a glint of pain in them from my words. "You're not a villain, Anne. You were lonely. He wasn't there."
"That doesn't make it right," I snapped, my voice breaking. "He loved me. He was trying. And now he's gone, and I have to live with that."
Liam reached for my hand, but I stepped back, my heart pounding. "Please," I whispered. "Just go."
He held my gaze for a long moment, then nodded. "I'll give you space. But I'm not going anywhere, Anne. Not when you need me."
He turned and walked away, his figure disappearing into the snow. I closed the door, leaning against it, my breath shaky. The music still played in the background, a painful and ironically comforting reminder of the life I'd lost and the choices I couldn't undo.That night, after tucking the kids into bed, I sat at the kitchen table with a glass of wine, staring at the letter again. I hadn't told anyone about it—not May, not Liam, not even the kids. It was too personal, too raw, like it was the last piece of Marcus I could hold onto. But I couldn't keep hiding from the truth.I unfolded the paper, my eyes tracing his familiar handwriting, I could almost see him sitting in his favorite brown chair, writing those words on a sheet of paper laid gently on his magnificent mahogany table. His well-chiseled face and deep brown eyes held a mix of love and the pain he was trying to release.
I thought of the man who'd written it, driving through a storm to keep his promise, unaware that he'd never make it home. The thought was unbearable, but I forced myself to face it.I needed to be honest—not just with myself, but with Shelley and Dustin. They deserved to know their father's heart, to understand how much he'd loved them. I couldn't erase my mistakes, but I could make sure they grew up knowing the truth about the man who'd given everything for us.
The next morning, I called May. "Can you watch the kids for a few hours?" I asked. "I need to take care of something."
"Of course," she said, her voice gentle. "Whatever you need, Anne."
I thanked her profusely and left.