An officer led him toward the remains they had recovered. “We can’t identify her by sight,” the man explained. “But these were found at the scene.”
One by one, they showed him her possessions—a charred handbag, a half-melted phone, the faint outline of a familiar scarf.
And then… the necklace.
The necklace he had given her once, years ago, when promises still meant something between them. The sight of it ripped through him, stealing the air from his lungs.
He remembered his promise, “I will love you for the rest of my life. You are the only one for me, and I promise to make you happy forever.”
Nathaniel’s knees buckled. He sank to the ground, his palms pressing into the dirt as though he could steady the earth beneath him. “No,” he rasped. “No, I won’t accept this. This isn’t her.”
The officer hesitated, then handed him a document. “We ran fingerprints on the recovered items. They matched Eleanor Carrington.”
Nathaniel’s head lowered. For the first time in years, the world felt like it had dropped out from under him. His heartbeat was a dull, punishing drum in his ears.
He didn’t notice the murmurs of the officers nearby. He didn’t see the way Delilah’s car rolled up in the distance.
He just stood there, staring at the ashes in the metal tray, his expression unreadable—but his grip on the necklace so tight it left angry red marks in his palm.
“Eleanor, please…” he muttered. “Tell me this is just a joke.”
The morgue was silent except for the faint hum of the fluorescent lights above, their cold glow reflecting off the stainless-steel surfaces. The air was sharp with antiseptic and something heavier—finality.
Nathaniel, still pretending to be Harold, stood rooted to the spot, staring at the small metal tray beside the gurney.
A charred necklace lay there, twisted but still recognizable. He knew it too well. He had given it to Eleanor on their first anniversary.
The sheet covering her supposed remains seemed to press down on him like a weight.
Every fiber of him screamed that this wasn’t her—that this couldn’t be her—but the evidence kept piling up.
The police had confirmed fingerprints. Her belongings were found at the scene. The ashes. The scorched metal.
A sharp crack shattered the air. Pain bloomed across his cheek.
“What the hell—” He snapped his head toward the source. Delilah stood there, her manicured hand still raised, eyes blazing with fury.