Chapter 1: The Wife Nobody Wanted at the Funeral
The woman standing outside her husband's funeral had spent twenty years being called a coward, a runaway, and a mother who abandoned her own child.
Now, at seventy-nine years old, Margaret Dawson had finally come to say goodbye to the man she had never stopped loving.
And his son was determined to make sure she never made it through the church doors.
The October wind swept across the cemetery parking lot, tugging at Margaret's black coat. She stood near the entrance of St. Andrew's Church, holding a tiny bouquet of white roses. Her fingers trembled so badly that the stems occasionally slipped against her gloves.
Through the open doors, she could hear the organ playing.
Henry's favorite hymn.
She closed her eyes.
"Twenty years, Henry," she whispered.
"Twenty years, and I still don't know how we got here.""
A motorcycle engine rumbled behind her.
Margaret turned.
Four bikers were pulling into the parking lot, their leather jackets marked with the insignia of a local riding club. They looked out of place among the polished black sedans and expensive suits gathering outside the church.
The first man to approach her was tall, broad-shouldered, and probably in his late fifties. His beard was streaked with gray, and a pair of reading glasses hung from the collar of his shirt.
His name was Roy Bennett.
He had known Henry for almost thirty years.
Roy noticed the flowers first, then the old woman's face.
"You waiting for somebody?"" he asked.
Margaret swallowed.
"I'm here for Henry Dawson's funeral.""
Roy glanced toward the church.
"You knew Henry?""
Her lips began to tremble.
"I was his wife.""
Roy stopped walking.
For several seconds, he simply stared at her.
"His wife?""
Margaret nodded.
"My name is Margaret. Margaret Dawson.""
Roy looked through the church doors again. He had just arrived, but he had already heard Henry's son speaking to a group of mourners.
Thomas Dawson was standing near the front pew, dressed in an expensive black suit. His silver cuff links caught the light as he shook hands with guests.
Roy had heard Thomas explain that his mother had abandoned the family twenty years earlier.
He had heard him describe Henry's final years as a lonely struggle.
And he had heard him tell people that his father had never recovered from the betrayal.
Roy slowly turned back toward Margaret.
"Ma'am, Thomas told everybody your husband had been alone for twenty years.""
Margaret looked down at the roses.
"I know what he told them.""
"Then why are you here?""
She lifted her eyes.
"Because Henry asked me to come home.""
Roy's expression changed.
"What do you mean?""
Margaret reached into her handbag and pulled out a small folded piece of paper. Its edges were worn, and the handwriting was unmistakably old.
It was a letter from Henry.
Roy didn't take it.
Instead, he asked, "Did Henry send you that?""
"Three weeks ago. It was the first letter I'd received from him in twenty years.""
"What did it say?""
Margaret's eyes filled.
"He said he was running out of time. He said there were things I needed to know. And he asked me to forgive him.""
Roy looked toward the church again.
"Does Thomas know you're coming?""
"He knows.""
Roy frowned.
"How?""
"Yesterday, I called him. I told him I wanted to attend my husband's funeral.""
"What did he say?""
Margaret's mouth tightened.
"He told me that if I showed my face, he would have security remove me.""
Roy stared at her.
Then he extended his arm toward the church.
"Well, that's unfortunate.""
Margaret blinked.
"What is?""
"Because you're not going in there alone.""
He turned toward the other three bikers.
"Guys. We have somebody to escort.""
The men approached.
One was a heavyset man named Curtis, who had once helped Henry rebuild an old motorcycle. Another was a quiet former mechanic named Leon. The youngest, Marcus, had been Henry's neighbor for years.
Roy introduced Margaret to each of them.
Curtis gently took the bouquet from her trembling hands.
"Let's get you inside, ma'am.""
Margaret hesitated.
"I don't want to cause trouble.""
Roy gave a short, humorless laugh.
"From what I heard, the trouble started long before you arrived.""
They walked toward the church together.
Inside, Thomas was telling a story to several relatives.
"My mother left when I was twelve," he said.
"My father raised me alone. He worked himself into the ground, and she never even called.""
A woman near him shook her head.
"That's heartbreaking.""
Thomas lowered his eyes.
"He forgave her eventually. But I never could.""
Then he noticed the movement near the entrance.
His face changed.
Margaret stepped inside.
For one brief moment, the church became silent.
Thomas stared at her as if he had seen a ghost.
Then he pushed through the crowd.
"You!""
Margaret tightened her grip on her handbag.
"Hello, Thomas.""
"You have no right to be here!""
Several guests turned.
Roy stepped between them.
"Easy. She's here to pay her respects.""
Thomas shoved Roy's shoulder.
"Stay out of my family's business!""
Roy barely moved.
"Your family business?""
Thomas pointed at Margaret.
"That woman abandoned my father and me!""
Margaret's voice was quiet.
"I never abandoned you, Thomas.""
"Don't you dare!""
He shoved Roy again, harder this time.
Roy caught himself, then pushed Thomas backward. Thomas stumbled into a wooden chair, sending it scraping violently across the polished floor.
"Don't put your hands on me," Roy warned.
"Security!"" Thomas shouted.
"Get these people out!""
Before anyone could move, the funeral director hurried toward them.
He was carrying a cream-colored envelope.
"Mr. Dawson?""
Thomas turned.
"What?""
The director looked uncomfortable.
"This was left with specific instructions. Your father requested that I personally deliver it to his wife.""
Thomas stared at the envelope.
"My father had no wife.""
The director glanced at Margaret.
"He specifically identified Mrs. Margaret Dawson.""
The color drained from Thomas's face.
"Give it to me.""
The director pulled the envelope closer to his chest.
"I'm sorry. I was instructed to hand it directly to her.""
Thomas lunged.
Roy caught his wrist.
"Don't.""
Thomas struggled.
"Let go of me!""
Margaret took the envelope.
Her name was written across the front in Henry's familiar handwriting.
She opened it with shaking fingers.
Inside was a short letter.
Margaret,
I am sorry I allowed our son to keep us apart for twenty years. I was afraid, and that fear cost us everything.
You deserve the truth. So does the other boy.
Forgive me for waiting until now.
Henry.
Margaret's knees weakened.
"The other boy," she whispered.
A small photograph slipped from the envelope and landed faceup on the floor.
Roy bent to pick it up.
It showed Henry standing beside Margaret, much younger, both of them smiling in front of a little wooden house.
Between them stood a little boy of perhaps six years old.
He had Henry's eyes.
Roy looked at the photograph, then at Thomas.
"Who's the kid?""
Thomas's expression had turned frighteningly pale.
Margaret pressed one hand against her mouth.
Then she whispered something that made the entire room go silent.
"Thomas was never Henry's only son.""
Thomas suddenly lunged toward the photograph.
"Give me that!""
Roy pulled it away.
And for the first time since Margaret had walked through those doors, Thomas looked genuinely afraid.
May you like
Because he recognized the little boy.
And he knew exactly why Henry had mentioned him in the letter.
