Page 1 of Dead to Me

Milan Hart

By the time my sister said I do, three people at her wedding would already be dead. I knew this before I even pulled into the parking lot of The Bellamy Hotel.

I knew it before I saw the red and white roses wrapped around the black iron railing at the entrance, before the valet jogged over with a smile and before I noticed the huge gold sign through the glass doors announcing the event everyone in town had been waiting for.

CHINA & MALCOLM

FOREVER STARTS HERE

I stared at it until the valet tapped gently on my window. Forever, huh. That was funny. I rolled the window down.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. Are you checking in?”

“I am.”

“Wedding guest?”

His eyes dropped to the garment bag hanging behind my seat.

I smiled.

“Maid of honor.”

His expression brightened. “Oh, great.”

Unfortunately.

I popped the trunk and he walked around the car while I grabbed my purse and phone. I sat in the driver’s seat for a few more seconds.

For six years, I wondered what it would feel like to come home. Sometimes I saw myself crying as soon as the skyline came into view. Other times, I pictured anger hitting me so hard I would have to pull over just to catch my breath.

But when the moment came, I felt nothing. There was no fear, sadness, or excitement. Only a strange calm, as if my body already knew what my mind had struggled to accept for years.

There was nothing left here for me to love. My family was dead to me. Malcolm was dead to me. Everyone who helped send me to prison was dead to me. Some of them just hadn’t stopped breathing yet.

I opened the door. The summer heat hit me right away, thick and sticky even with the fancy hotel rising above the downtown streets. Six years away hadn’t changed that.

I stepped onto the sidewalk in nude heels and a cream jumpsuit that fit me just right. Prison had taught me a few things. Patience was one. Watching people without being noticed was another. The biggest lesson was that everyone has a routine. Everyone has weaknesses. Everyone slips up when they think no one is watching. I had spent six years watching.

The valet took my suitcase out of the trunk.

“Anything else?”

I glanced at the small black duffel tucked behind it.

“I’ll take that.”

He reached for it anyway.

“I said I’ll take it.”

His hand stopped.

“Of course.”

I relaxed my face. I had to remind myself to smile, to be pleasant. Not the Milan they remembered from the courtroom. Not the woman the newspapers called unstable and vindictive after the verdict.

I needed to be the woman my sister thought she was bringing home. Forgiving, broken, desperate for family.