Page 122 of Happy Wife

Epilogue

Three months later

I am standing in the middle of my empty master closet. It looks so sad with bare shelves and abandoned hanging rods. I had moved into this place when it was fully furnished. This is my first look at the stripped-down version. It’s a little unnerving.

My things are in suitcases ready to be loaded out. The plastic, makeshift ring Will had given me is looped around my left ring finger. Widows, I had learned, wear their wedding rings on their right hands, so I switched my diamond ring in accordance with polite society. But when I was alone in the house, I had taken to putting on the well-worn cocktail straw, reliving the memory of when he slipped it on. I’m wearing it now to make sure it doesn’t get lost in the shuffle of moving day.

It was an easy decision to sell this house. Too much water under too many bridges for this to ever be a happy place for me again. Este still hasn’t forgiven me, but I’ve reminded her that I’m leaving the neighborhood, not Winter Park.

Of course, I had toyed with the idea of leaving town altogether. I daydreamed about shedding my second-wife-turned-widow-turned-vigilante reputation. But Este is here, and she’s my family now. There is no way around that.

I just can’t stay in his house. This is one of the last things thatwas Will’s, but it was never mine. My mother says she’ll come visit me in the new place as soon as they get to Istanbul. She’s booked a flight and everything. I wonder if Paolo’s time in Ramona’s orbit is running down. I guess we’ll see.

I didn’t hear Mia come in until she quietly knocked on the doorframe of the closet. “Oh, hey,” I say. “You’re here.”

“Yeah.”

Mia and I both stare at the boxes we’ve filled with Will’s clothes, waiting to be donated. It’s awful to think about.

I nod to a shelf behind Mia. I had let her choose anything she wanted before someone came to haul away what used to be his. She’s here to pick up a tie and a few soft, worn T-shirts.

Mia can’t hold back the tears. Neither can I. The finality of it all is brutal. We stand in a hug for a long time, keeping each other afloat in a sea of grief.

When we’re ready, we pull ourselves back together and head downstairs. I am floored to find Constance standing in the kitchen. A lot has changed since the last time I saw her.

For starters, her best friend is in jail now.

“Get what you came for, Buggy?” she asks.

Mia nods at her mother. “But I need to grab something from my room. Can you take this?” Mia hands the pile of Will’s things to Constance and heads back upstairs.

Constance looks at the tie on top. “I bought him that tie. In the Bahamas.”

We stand there in the silence for a minute. After Gianna was arrested, Constance had copped to lying about what Will said—he never told her he was unhappy. But she believed so fervently that I was to blame for Will’s disappearance she had concocted the lie to get a reaction from me and pointed Ardell in my direction from the get-go. She was trying to smoke me out. It turns out she did know Dean Morrison. As an old friend of Will’s family, Dean had been at their wedding. His car accident was her first clue that shit was going down. When she sounded the alarm about Dean, Ardell didn’t listen to her either. But leave it to the first wife. Constance knew something was wrong before all of us.

After a beat, Constance says, “Maybe we can find a way for Mia to come by to see you from time to time. For her sake.”

It’s the thinnest olive branch. An olive twig, maybe. But I’ll take it. Will’s gone. Whatever rivalry we had needs to end. At least for Mia. Maybe for all of us.

“That would be great,” I say softly. “I would love to have her anytime.”

Constance nods, then heads out the front door.

I can only imagine how hard that was for her. Maybe she’ll always resent the parts of Will’s life that didn’t include her. I don’t know if we’ll ever find a relationship beyond all of the things we begrudgingly shared. Maybe one day.

Mia comes down with a tote bag full of the last remnants of the drawers in her room. She gives me a huge hug. And as we stand there, smiling at each other, Constance’s horn blares from the driveway.

The sound cracks us up.

“I mean. She’s trying, but my mom is who she is.”

Truer words, kid.

I watch Mia get in the car and give a wave as Constance drives off.

—

It’s been a little over two months since Ardell and his team arrested Gianna and got her to confess to Will’s murder. He had called me from the station late one night to recount her story. Hearing him go through the details of Will’s last hour was surreal—I still can’t believe I lived through this ordeal. That this is my story. My life. I hear it repeated in soft whispers as I walk down the street.

---