Chapter 10- Grief.

CHAPTER 10.

GRIEF.

             ~ASHLEY POINT OF VIEW~

As I draw closer to the room, I realize it’s Ripper.

He’s sobbing—openly, uncontrollably. He hugs the cold corpse gently, tears slipping down his cheeks as if they have been waiting behind his ribs for permission to fall.

My breath catches in my throat at the sight of him.

I have never seen a man that big cry like this.

Matt didn't cry this deeply when Daisy died.

Ripper kneels beside the bed, his forehead pressed against Warrick’s still chest. His massive shoulders shake with every sob. He cries like someone who has lost something vital—something irreplaceable.

He must’ve been close to Warrick.

I stand frozen in the doorway, unable to move… unable to look away. Part of me wants to help, the way he helped me out there. But I don’t feel the need to interrupt him. If anything, I just want to watch—discreetly.

This isn’t pain without love. This is grief that comes from love.

He rises slowly, presses a kiss to Warrick’s forehead, then turns to leave.

I don’t wait. I slip into the hallway and rush into the empty room beside mine.

I watch through the doorway as he walks out, slow and heavy steps. My chest aches for him.

********************************************

The next day, as soon as six in the morning, I am awake.

I glance at the black outfit hanging on the mannequin in front of my closet, and the realization hits me like a slow punch—I am a widow at twenty-one.

A widow.

The word feels foreign, like trying on a coat three sizes too big.

I am too young to be called a widow. A widow who never got to see her supposed husband. A widow who never even got to speak to him.

I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the dress. My hands feel cold. My mind feels numb.

I don’t know how I am supposed to feel. One thing I know—I don’t feel the way someone who has lost her husband should feel.

Sad?..no… I’ve never met Warrick. I’ve never heard his voice. I’ve never felt his touch—so I can’t fake sadness just to make it convincing, even if I want to.

Relieved?..yes… I can’t lie. Knowing the renowned Warrick won’t be touching me again makes me feel… relieved.

And that also makes me feel like a monster.

Nothing comes after that. Just emptiness,an empty hollow where grief is supposed to live.

I stand slowly and walk toward the dress.

Nonna brought it in yesterday. It’s beautiful, in a devastating sort of way. Floor-length black silk that catches the early morning light and shimmers like oil on water. Long sleeves,a high neck,modest, elegant, and unmistakably expensive.

I reach out and touch the fabric…..Cool and smooth. It slides between my fingers softly, like it’s meant to be worn by someone who understands loss.

But I don’t.

Not really.

This is who I am now.

Mrs. Harrington. The president’s widow—Warrick’s widow.

A sharp knock rings out.I drop the cloth and hurry to the door.

When I pull it open, it’s Adams. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” I say, stepping back to give him space. The moment he enters, I shut the door behind him—not hard, just a soft click.

“The Harrington family is downstairs,” he says calmly. “They arrive for the funeral today.”

There is a drop in his tone that I can’t miss.

His eyes dart around the room, then he exhales. “You need to hurry down, Ash. She doesn’t like to wait.”

“You should come down and greet her as soon as possible.”