30. Cara

Chapter thirty

Cara

I 'm a ghost.

Not the kind that haunts old houses or rattles chains in attics. No, I'm the kind that haunts her own life, drifting through the motions of existence like a wisp of smoke. The only thing anchoring me to this world is the tiny spark growing beneath my shattered heart.

June's gone.

The words echo in the hollow cavern of my chest, each repetition a fresh wound. He was ripped away from me by cruelty, hatred, and the machinations of a soulless monster. And I'm left behind, a husk of the woman I once was, struggling to find a reason to keep breathing in a world without my soulmate.

The doorbell chimes, a jarring sound in the tomb-like silence of our - my - house. I know who it is without looking. Another well-meaning friend, another casserole, another attempt to breach the fortress of my grief.

I don't answer.

They'll leave eventually. They always do. And I'll be left alone with the deafening silence, the emptiness that threatens to swallow me whole.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Dante's name flashes on the screen, his worry palpable even through the digital distance. I let it ring, unable to summon the energy to pick up, to form words around the black hole in my chest.

A text from Sarah follows. I read it through blurry eyes:

"Here if you need anything. Anytime."

My fingers hover over the keys, but what can I say? That I'm drowning? That every breath feels like swallowing broken glass? That I don't know how to exist in a world where June doesn't?

I let the phone fall from my numb fingers.

The darkness is my constant companion now. It seeps into my lungs with every ragged breath, coating my insides with tar-thick despair. June is gone. My sun, my stars, the gravity that kept me tethered to this world - snuffed out like a candle in a hurricane.

I float through the motions of life, a puppet with cut strings. Shower. The water runs cold before I realize I've been standing there, staring at nothing. Dress. I pull on whatever my hands touch first, barely registering the fabric against my skin. Eat. The food turns to ash on my tongue, tasteless and dry.

My reflection is a stranger - hollow-eyed and gaunt, a ghost haunting the edges of a life I no longer recognize. Dark circles like bruises under eyes that have forgotten how to shine. Skin pale as milk, stretched too tight over cheekbones that jut out sharply.

"Cara."

Judith's voice filters through the fog, muffled and distant. Her hand on my arm is warm, alive. I want to flinch away. How dare anything be warm when June is cold in the ground?

"You need to eat something," she says softly. "For the baby."

The baby.

Our baby.

The flutter of movement in my swollen belly is the only thing that feels real anymore. The last piece of June, growing stronger every day while he rots.

"I'm fine," I lie, the words scraping my throat raw.

Judith's eyes are dark with worry, but she doesn't push. Smart woman. I might shatter if she does.

Days bleed into nights, an endless parade of grey. I drift through a fog of condolences and casseroles, of well-meaning friends who don't understand that their presence is sandpaper on my raw nerves.

Only Dante seems to get it. He doesn't try to fill the silence with platitudes. Just sits, a solid presence, while I stare unseeing at the nursery June and I had started to paint.

"We'll finish it," he says quietly one day, his hand hovering near mine but not quite touching. "When you're ready."

I want to scream. To rage. To tell him I'll never be ready, that I'll tear this whole fucking house down before I let anyone else touch the mural June started. But I just nod, wooden and hollow.

The funeral looms, a black hole threatening to swallow me whole. I move through the preparations like an automaton, my mind a thousand miles away.

Pick out a casket: mahogany, June always liked dark wood.

Choose flowers: lilies, for a purity he never had, for the innocence Elaine stole.

Write a eulogy: how do you sum up a supernova in a few paltry words?

"You don't have to do this," Sarah murmurs, her eyes red-rimmed as she helps me into the black dress that stretches tight across my belly. "Someone else can speak-"

"No." My voice is a rusted hinge, cracking from disuse. "It has to be me. He'd want-"

I choke on the words, on the tidal wave of grief that threatens to drown me. Sarah's arms are around me in an instant, holding me together as I shake apart.

I'm drowning in a sea of black. Mourners press in around me, their sympathy a suffocating fog. The scent of lilies – June's favorite – mingles with the musty air of the church, threatening to choke me. I grip the podium, my knuckles white, struggling to keep my face composed.

"Cara?" Judith's whisper cuts through my spiraling thoughts. "It's time."

I nod, swallowing hard. Time to say goodbye to the love of my life. Time to face a future without him.

My hands shake as I smooth the paper in front of me. The words swim before my eyes, a jumble of memories and pain. I take a deep breath, willing my voice not to betray me.

"June Deveaux was..." I pause, the lump in my throat threatening to suffocate me. "June was a force of nature."

The truth of those words anchors me. June, my hurricane, my wildfire. Unpredictable, unstoppable, and now... gone.

"He swept into my life and turned everything upside down," I continue, my voice wavering. "And I was never the same again."

Faces blur before me, awash with tears and sympathy. I see Dante in the front row, his expression unreadable. He gives me an almost imperceptible nod. Keep going. You can do this.

"June fought demons every day of his life," I say, and my heart clenches with the memory of his struggles. "Demons that would have broken a lesser man. But June... June used that darkness to fuel his light."

My hand drifts to my swollen belly, cradling the life growing there. Our miracle, our last connection. "He'll never get to meet our child," I choke out, and the pain of those words is a physical ache. "But I promise you, June, our baby will know you. Will know how brave you were, how strong, how full of love."

The words catch in my throat, and for a moment, I'm afraid I'll break. That I'll collapse under the weight of this loss, this void where my heart used to be.

But then I feel it. A flutter of movement, our child stirring within me. A reminder that a piece of June lives on. That I have to be strong, for both of us.

I straighten my spine, steel entering my voice. "You may be gone, but you'll never be forgotten. Not as long as I'm breathing."

As I near the end of my speech, a flicker of movement catches my eye. A figure at the back of the church, half-hidden in shadow. My heart stutters, a painful lurch in my chest. It can't be. It's impossible.

But as the figure steps forward, as gasps ripple through the crowd like a stone dropped in still water, I know.

Those eyes. God, those eyes. Stormy grey, flecked with gold, holding galaxies of love and pain and fierce, unbreakable devotion.

June.

The world tilts, goes fuzzy at the edges. I'm falling, drowning, burning alive. Strong arms catch me – Dante, his face a mask of shock and something else. Something that looks almost like... guilt?

I can't focus on that now. Can't focus on anything but those eyes, that face I never thought I'd see again.

June is here. Alive. Standing in the back of the church at his own funeral.

As the crowd erupts in chaos, as questions fly and accusations are hurled, one thought cuts through the pandemonium in my mind:

This wasn't part of the plan.

June was supposed to stay hidden, stay safe while we dismantled Elaine's empire piece by piece. His presence here, now, throws everything into disarray. Jeopardizes everything we've worked for.

So why is he here? What's gone wrong?

As the world spins around me, as June's eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that steals my breath, I feel a chill run down my spine.

Something's not right. And I have a sinking feeling that this is only the beginning.

The last thing I see before darkness claims me is June, pushing through the crowd, his face a mask of desperation and love and something else. Something that looks terrifyingly like goodbye.

Then, nothing.

I wake to the steady beep of a heart monitor and the antiseptic smell of a hospital room. For a moment, I'm disoriented, unsure of where I am or how I got here. Then it all comes rushing back – the funeral, the eulogy, June...

June.

I bolt upright, ignoring the wave of dizziness that washes over me. "Where is he?" I demand, my voice hoarse and scratchy.

Dante is there, his face drawn and tired. "Cara, you need to rest. The doctor said-"

"I don't give a damn what the doctor said," I snarl, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. "Where's June?"

Dante's hand on my shoulder is gentle but firm. "He's gone, Cara. We couldn't risk-"

"Risk what?" I cut him off, fury rising like bile in my throat. "The truth coming out? That this whole thing has been one big lie?"

Dante's eyes dart to the door, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Keep your voice down. We don't know who might be listening."

I laugh, the sound bitter and sharp. "Right. Because we're all so deep in this web of lies, we can't trust anyone anymore. Not even each other."

The look on Dante's face is one of pity mixed with frustration. "Cara, please. You knew the risks when we started this. We all did."

"Risks?" I repeat, my voice rising despite Dante's warning. "You mean like my husband showing up at his own funeral? Throwing our entire plan into chaos? Was that one of the risks we discussed, Dante?"

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. "No," he admits. "That... that wasn't part of the plan."

"Then what happened?" I demand. "Why was he there?"

Dante hesitates, and I can see the war playing out behind his eyes. How much to tell me? How much can I handle in my "delicate" state?

"We don't know," he says finally. "He went off-grid yesterday. Missed his check-in. We thought..." He trails off, swallowing hard. "We thought Elaine might have found him."

The room spins, and for a moment, I think I might be sick. "And you didn't tell me?" I whisper, horror and betrayal warring in my chest.

"We couldn't risk it," Dante says, his voice pleading. "If Elaine was watching you, if she suspected anything-"

"So you let me think-" I choke on the words, tears burning in my eyes. "You let me stand up there and eulogize him, only for this to ha-"

I can't finish the sentence. Can't give voice to the terror that's been gnawing at me since this whole charade began. The fear that one day, the lie might become truth…and it will when Elaine finds out he's alive.

Dante reaches for me, but I jerk away, unable to bear his touch. "I'm sorry," he says, and I can hear the genuine regret in his voice. "We were trying to protect you. Both of you."

His eyes flick to my belly, and I curl my arms around myself protectively. Our child. The innocent caught in the crossfire of this war we're waging.

"I want to go home," I say, forcing my voice to steady. "Now."

Dante sighs, but doesn't argue. "I'll get the paperwork started."

As he turns to leave, a thought strikes me. "Wait," I call after him. "It's over isn't it?"

Dante freezes, his back to me. "Cara-"

"Don't lie to me," I cut him off. "Not again. Please."

He turns slowly, guilt written across his face. "Yes," he admits. "June's gone, we can't find him."

The tears I've been holding back spill over, hot trails down my cheeks. "Take me home," I say. "I need... I need to go home."

Dante hesitates, but must see the determination in my eyes. He nods, helping me to my feet.

The drive home is silent, heavy with unspoken words and unanswered questions. As we pull up to the house – my house, our house, the home June and I had built together – I feel a wave of dread wash over me. What will I find inside? What secrets have been kept from me in my own home?

Dante must sense my hesitation. "Do you want me to come in with you?" he asks softly.

I shake my head. This is something I have to do alone.

The house is exactly as I left it, but it feels different now. Charged with an energy I can't quite name. I move through the rooms like a ghost, touching things that June has touched, breathing in the scent of him that still lingers in the air.

I end up in front of the nursery door, my hand trembling on the knob. For a moment, I'm paralyzed with fear. What if it's not what I'm hoping for? What if it's just another disappointment in a long line of letdowns?

But I force myself to turn the handle, to step into the room that will be our child's sanctuary.

And there it is.

The mural stretches across the far wall, a fantastical scene of forests and mountains, of creatures both real and imagined. It's everything we'd dreamed of and more, brought to life by talented hands.

But it's the details that undo me. The tiny castle nestled in the crook of a tree, just like the one in the story my father used to tell me. The family of bears that look suspiciously like cartoon versions of June, me, and our unborn child. And there, hidden in the branches of an ancient oak, two sets of initials carved into the bark: J+C.

I sink to my knees, overcome by the beauty of it, by the love poured into simple brushstrokes. It's a message. A promise.

I'm here. I'm watching over you both. I love you.

As I trace the lines of the mural with trembling fingers, I make a silent vow of my own. I will find you, June. I will bring you home. And together, we'll create the future we've painted on these walls.

No matter the cost. No matter the danger.

We will be a family again.

The baby kicks, strong and insistent, as if in agreement. I smile through my tears, cradling my belly.

"That's right, little one," I whisper. "Daddy's coming home. And nothing in this world is going to stop us."