John Travolta Wife Funeral Pictures Novels & Stories

Anonymous POV The air inside St. Sabina Catholic Church was thick with sorrow. The stained glass windows cast colorful rays onto the pews, but no light could soften the grief that hung over the congregation. The funeral service for Travis Matthew Santiago was a devastating affair. Sade sat in the front row, her body trembling as she clutched a tissue in one hand and Marco’s hand in the other. Her sobs were uncontrollable, her shoulders shaking as she buried her face into her husband's chest. Their four children sat beside them, confused and quiet, sensing the weight of the moment even if they didn’t fully understand it.

“That’s not the word I’d use.” She smiled, and when she leaned forward again, the neckline of her uniform dipped just enough to draw his eye; despite himself, the soft curve of her breasts was on show. The TV played in the background. He was keeping an eye on it, trying to catch a glimpse of Marisol, Vince, or Lorenzo. Right now, a reporter was commenting on the famous guest list of the rich and powerful. The funeral of Chad Vale was a media circus. Ethan hadn’t cared about the kid when he was alive, and he didn’t care now. He found the whole thing disrespectful. He just wanted to lay eyes on Marisol, see that she was ok.

He was about to make a call but the last picture on the report caught his attention. He clenched his fists as he stared at Shantala who was wearing a red dress showing off her shoulders with her hand around the shoulders of Klauss Wilburn. He was not jealous at all but in the background of the said picture were him and his deceased fiancée, Tricia Vexmore. It reminded him of the tragic event that happened at their engagement party. "Tricia, I promise you that I will find the person who murdered you," he muttered as if he were talking to the very first woman he loved.

The son who lived while Ziva died. And Millie. Standing there. Smiling. Playing the part of the loving wife. She was Nolan's mother. She was the one who destroyed my family. And now she was standing next to my husband. On television. Holding his hand. Being introduced as his wife. His wife. The word hit me like a slap. I was his wife. For eight years. He kept me hidden. A secret. And the moment I'm in a coma, the moment Ziva is dead, he puts her in my place.

Lily held Jared sympathetically and roared, “You want to divorce me over such a small matter? You’re being unreasonable!” Jared glared at me viciously as he pretended to be understanding. “Dr. Smith, Hunter’s angry because I dismembered the body. That’s probably why he wanted to divorce you. I’m willing to beg for Hunter’s forgiveness if he’s willing to treat you well and rein in his anger.” At the same time, I heard dogs barking from the back alley behind the hospital.

She had learned a hard and painful lesson. The Taylor family agreed to bury Valencia at the Moore family's graveyard with heavy hearts. However, they were happy that they had nothing tying them with the Moore family anymore after the funeral. John Taylor called his younger brother, Keith Taylor, and said, "Brother, Xavier's wife has passed away. Your nephew would appreciate it if you could come back home for the funeral." Keith Taylor was shocked when he heard the news of his nephew's wife's passing. He promised his brother that he would be there to give Xavier support. Then they hung up.

But that image faded quickly, replaced by the memory of me lying alone on the operating table. Allen pinned our conversation to the top of his messages and sent a brief instruction to his assistant. He wanted the funeral arranged immediately. This time, he made sure to emphasize one thing—invite every prominent family in the city. He wanted the entire world to know who I was. To know that Mia Davis had been his wife for five years. The woman he cherished, the woman he almost had a child with. The autopsy report came back sooner than expected. It revealed something chilling. My heart was missing, and the unborn child inside me had been forcibly removed.

While all the other employees moved on with their lives, it seemed like mine was only getting more complicated. “Today is the funeral of Anya Castillo, who was—“ “Nope,” Rona spoke as she turned off the screen of the small TV. The tragedy at the wedding had become local news, and for some reason, it followed me everywhere I went. Not being able to attend Anya’s funeral felt like a crime, but I didn’t want to interfere. It wasn’t my place anyway. How would Tiago be doing? Did he even go to the funeral? The last time I saw him, he was not in a good state which was understandable.

At 11:00 AM, my husband, Silas Vexille, slowly drowned in our indoor thermal pool. At the time, I was having my usual morning tea with the other mafia wives in the estate's back garden. The pool room was directly above the garden, barely a dozen feet away. Originally, if I had gone back to the main house at 11:00 as usual, I would have had plenty of time to save him. But as fate would have it, Victoria Harrison insisted on inviting us over to her nearby home to see her new pink diamond. At 11:20 AM, my daughter April and I pushed open the doors to the pool room. By then, Silas was already gone. At the lavish funeral, I was devastated, fainting several times. The mourners murmured in sympathy

Brian barked into the phone, "Scam! My wife's here in Ferovia. How the hell could she be dead? Keep this crap up and I'll sue you when I'm back in Carmoria!" The voice snapped back, sharper now. "Are you really Shiloh Quinn's husband? "Seven days ago, during the bus crash, your wife went back into the fire multiple times to pull children out. On the last run, the explosion hit. She went over the cliff.