My Husband's Graveyard Gift Ended Our Marriage

Half an hour later, the hospital room door was pushed open. Brody Singer walked in with Isabelle Wood, who was only two years older than him.

Back then, David Carrell, who had once saved Brody's life, had married her. Who would have thought that less than two years later, David would die in an accident?

Today, Isabelle wore a fitted white silk dress. The corners of her eyes were slightly red, making her look like a fragile white flower that had just been drenched by the rain.

Brody's hand hovered around the small of her back in an extremely inappropriate and possessive gesture. They looked just like a pair of star-crossed lovers who had just lost their child.

Meanwhile, I, the one who had just come off the operating table, looked like an outsider.

Brody spoke perfunctorily, and his gaze remained glued to Isabelle. "How are you feeling, Roxanne? Isabelle thought of David while picking out a cemetery plot today. She cried so hard she could barely breathe. I couldn't get away."

If it hadn't been for the comments tipping me off, I never would have noticed the unfastened button at the collar of Isabelle's dress or the suspicious red mark on the side of Brody's neck.

So the cemetery plot viewing somehow ended up in bed, huh?

I leaned against the pillow and smiled faintly. "I'm fine. It was just a miscarriage. Isabelle's health is more important. Did you settle on the cemetery plot?"

Brody froze, and a trace of poorly concealed awkwardness flashed through his eyes. "Y-Yeah, we did. David died young. He once risked his life to help me, so the least I can do is make sure he has a good resting place here and give Isabelle some peace of mind."

Isabelle wiped away her tears delicately and took the opportunity to collapse into Brody's arms. "Brody, it's too expensive. I really don't deserve it…"

Brody patted her back repeatedly, his heart going out to her.

Watching the two of them cling to each other as if no one else was there made my stomach churn. Nevertheless, I kept my expression perfectly composed.

"Isabelle, please don't say that. You deserve the very best," I said.

I looked at Brody with utter sincerity and went on, "Actually, 18,000 dollars is nothing. If you want to repay a debt of gratitude, how can you just buy an empty plot?

"What about the finest premium granite, the fee for having a renowned geomancer choose the location, and the annual fees of prayer rites for the deceased? Have you arranged all of that too? I heard all it takes is a 60,600-dollar one-time payment for the whole package."

Brody was taken aback. "But… But that's over budget."

My expression immediately turned serious. "That won't do! You're the deputy director now. How can you skimp on something like this? If word gets out, people might say that you look respectable on the surface but secretly mistreat the young and beautiful widow of his rescuer.

"You're up for promotion to director next month. Your personal conduct will be part of the evaluation!"

Caught completely off guard by my lecture on loyalty and gratitude, Brody felt so conflicted that his face flushed and paled rapidly. His reputation and career prospects were his greatest weaknesses.

He mumbled, "You're right, but I don't have that much liquid cash on hand…"

I offered generously, "Honey, don't we have that 50,000-dollar fixed deposit we set aside to buy a car? Use that money for Isabelle first."

Brody said, "But that's in your name…"

I flashed him a gentle smile and replied, "I'll withdraw it. Spending money on the widow of your rescuer is only right."

I had forced Brody onto the moral high ground, leaving him no way to back down. He could only grit his teeth and nod.

Isabelle looked at me as if she were looking at an idiot who had been taken advantage of but remained obliviously clueless as to the reality.

I lowered my eyes, concealing the icy hatred in them.

I had already transferred all of 50,000 dollars to Jordan Keller, who was my friend and lawyer, last night for asset protection.

Tomorrow, I would take Brody to the bank and let him watch with his own eyes as a "system malfunction" prevented us from withdrawing the money. Then, I would force him to take out a high-interest loan to pay 60,600 dollars for the graves.

After all, my scumbag of a husband loved having a forbidden and immoral affair. If I didn't help him drain every last penny from his pockets, how could I possibly do justice to such twisted devotion?