A Journey from Bitterness to Truth

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, Content (C) Nôv/elDra/ma.Org.

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…

Her mistake was loving him!

Through clenched teeth, Matilda spat, “Don’t think for a second I’ll kneel before her!”

“The sins you’ve committed, kneeling is the least you could do,” Yvan bellowed as he yanked her up, only to throw her back down again.

But Matilda didn’t cry out 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 couldn’t match even a fingernail of mine!”

“So, you finally show your true colors…” Yvan prodded her face with the tip of his shoe. “I’ve prepared a little surprise for you today: I wonder if you’ll like it…”

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

Before Matilda could react, they swarmed her, pinned her down, and snapped handcuffs around her wrists with practiced ease.

As she saw the cuffs on her wrists, Matilda began to struggle wildly, “Let me go; by what right are you arresting me?”

“Murderer! Murderer!”

“Ptooey! And to think she’s from the Thompson family!”

1200

“Heartless monster! The depths of human depravity!”

“Poor Mr. Boyd, to be saddled with such a wife!”

Reporters and cameras converged on her, capturing every moment of her panic. Matilda’s face was ashen, her soul seemingly lost. “Who ordered my arrest? Who?”

“Really? Do you think in this land of law and order, they would wrongfully accuse you without solid evidence?” Yvan’s voice came from behind her, and as she turned, he stood there holding an urn, dressed in a bespoke suit, looking every bit the emperor returning to her world.

Tears welled in Matilda’s eyes. “Yvan, you had me arrested?”

A smirk played on Yvan’s lips. “I merely sought justice for Rachel. The police and I watched the surveillance footage.”

“Justice?” Matilda’s laugh was bitter and shrill, and it echoed through the crowd. The livestream captured her manic state for millions to see, her image etched into the eyes of the masses like some malevolent spirit.

The handcuffs clinked as she strained against them, yelling at Yvan, “Yvan! Do you have no conscience at all? After five years of marriage, even a dog wouldn’t be treated with such humiliation!”

“Humiliation?” Yvan stepped closer, his grip tight on Matilda’s chin, “It’s the consequence of your own actions. How can you call it humiliation?”

“I told you I didn’t do it. On what grounds are you arresting me?” Matilda’s hollow laugh was her final act of defiance, but it changed nothing. In his eyes, her reflection was nothing but a farce.