Chương 6
But questions that arrived unexpectedly made him human.
They made him imperfect.
“It’s from a coworker.”
“What coworker?”
Nathan’s jaw tightened.
“Why does that matter?”
“Because we are currently trying to understand the events surrounding your wife’s death.”
The sentence was calm.
No accusation.
No raised voice.
But Nathan heard the meaning.
Everything mattered now.
The detective looked at the phone.
“Did your wife know this person?”
Nathan stared at him.
The silence lasted too long.
Margaret felt Sophie move closer.
The little girl looked at Nathan the same way she had looked at the coffin.
Like she was waiting to find out if someone was safe.
Finally, Nathan spoke.
“Her name is Claire.”
Nobody reacted.
But Margaret saw it.
A small movement in his face.
A name that carried history.
“Claire who?” Clooney asked.
Nathan looked away.
“Claire Miller.”
The detective wrote it down.
“Your coworker?”
“Yes.”
“How long have you worked together?”
“Three years.”
“Did Emily know her?”
Nathan rubbed his forehead.
“Yes.”
The answer came slower.
“How well?”
“I don’t know.”
Margaret almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was impossible.
A husband did not usually say he did not know how well his wife knew someone who worked with him.
“What was the message?” Clooney asked.
Nathan looked at the phone.
“I don’t think that matters.”
“It matters because you just told us it was personal.”
Nathan looked toward the coffin.
Then at Sophie.
Something changed in his expression.
A person watching closely might have mistaken it for sadness.
Margaret did not.
She saw calculation.
“I need a lawyer.”
The words changed the room.
Not because needing a lawyer meant guilt.
Margaret knew that.
Everyone deserved protection.
Everyone deserved fairness.
But Nathan’s decision still meant something.
Minutes earlier, he had wanted everyone to believe there was a simple misunderstanding.
Now he wanted distance.
Clooney nodded.
“That’s your right.”
Nathan exhaled.
“Good.”
“But until your lawyer arrives, I need you to remain here.”
Nathan looked toward the door.
“Am I being detained?”
“Not at this time.”
The answer seemed to frustrate him.
He wanted a clear boundary.
A fight.
Something he could push against.
Instead, he received patience.
And patience gave him nothing to attack.
The funeral director approached Margaret quietly.
“Mrs. Collins?”
She turned.
“We need to discuss the service.”
Margaret looked toward Emily.
The thought felt strange.
Everything had changed.
An hour earlier, the question had been whether Emily would be remembered properly.
Now the question was whether the person standing beside her coffin had been responsible for her death.
“Not today,” Margaret said.
The funeral director nodded.
He looked tired.
Not from work.
From witnessing another family break apart.
Margaret understood that kind of exhaustion.
She had seen it in doctors after losing patients.
In parents after receiving terrible news.
In people who realized life had changed before they were ready.
Sophie quietly asked, “Can we go home?”
Margaret looked down.
“Yes.”
Then she looked at Emily.
And stopped.
She did not want to leave her daughter there.
Not yet.
But she also did not want Sophie to spend another minute in that room.
The choice felt impossible.
That was the part nobody told people about grief.
It was not only sadness.
It was being forced to make decisions while your heart refused to accept reality.
Officer Ramirez helped arrange for Sophie to wait in a private office near the entrance.
Margaret followed.
Before leaving the chapel, she looked back.
Nathan was still standing near Emily’s coffin.
Two officers were nearby.
Detective Clooney was speaking quietly with him.
For the first time, Nathan looked small.
Not innocent.
Not guilty.
Just small.
A person trapped by the consequences of choices he had made.
In the office, Sophie sat on a couch with a paper cup of water in her hands.
The room had a small table, old magazines, and a lamp that gave off a warm yellow light.
It was designed for families receiving difficult news.
Margaret had been in rooms like this many times.
She hated that her granddaughter was now sitting in one.
“Grandma?”
“Yes?”
“Are they going to put Dad in jail?”
Margaret looked at her.
The question was too heavy for such a small voice.
“I don’t know.”
Sophie looked down.
“That’s what adults say when they don’t want to tell the truth.”
Margaret almost smiled.
A tiny, sad smile.
“Sometimes.”
Sophie picked at the edge of the cup.
“Did Mom know you were worried about him?”
Margaret sat beside her.
“No.”
“Why?”
Because I did not listen enough.
The thought came immediately.
But Margaret did not say it.
Children should not carry the guilt of adults.
“Because your mom loved people,” she said.
Sophie looked confused.
“Was that bad?”
Margaret looked at the floor.
“No.”
She paused.
“But sometimes loving someone means you believe the best about them for a very long time.”
Sophie was quiet.
Then she asked, “Did she make a mistake?”
Margaret felt tears rise.
“I think everyone does.”
“Even Mom?”
“Yes.”
“Even you?”
Margaret looked at her granddaughter.
“Especially me.”
The answer surprised Sophie.
“How?”
Margaret looked toward the closed door.
“I thought being strong meant always knowing what to do.”
She swallowed.
“I was wrong.”
For a moment, they sat together without speaking.
Outside the office, phones rang.
Footsteps moved through the hallway.
The world continued.
That was the cruel thing about tragedy.
The world did not stop because one family’s life had changed.
A delivery person still arrived at the building.
A car still passed outside.
Someone somewhere was probably complaining about traffic.
Life continued without permission.
The door opened gently.
Detective Clooney stepped inside.
“Mrs. Collins.”
Margaret stood.
“What happened?”
The detective glanced at Sophie.
Then lowered his voice.
“We found something on Nathan’s phone.”
Margaret waited.
“It appears your daughter sent a message to herself.”
Margaret frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Clooney looked serious.
May you like
“Emily had a habit of sending notes to herself when she wanted to remember things.”
Margaret nodded slowly.
