Mr.
Dawson unfolded the page.
Jason went pale before a single word was read.
I noticed because I had spent the entire morning watching his face change on command.
Sympathy when an elderly aunt hugged him.
Grief when the pastor mentioned Emily’s unborn child.
Patience when people told him they were praying for him.
But this was different.
This was fear.
Mr.
Dawson looked at me before beginning.
“Linda, Emily asked that I read this aloud if you were present.”
My throat tightened.
I could only nod.
His eyes dropped to the page.
“To my mother, Linda.
If you are hearing this, then I am gone.
I am sorry I did not tell you sooner.
Please do not believe the story Jason tells.”
Someone behind me gasped.
Jason moved immediately.
“Stop.”
Mr.
Dawson kept reading.
“I found out about Ava three months ago.”
Every head in the chapel seemed to turn toward the blonde woman standing beside Jason.
Ava froze.
Her tissue lowered slowly from her face.
Jason’s voice sharpened.
“This is private marital garbage.
It has nothing to do with her estate.”
Sarah stepped beside me.
Mr.
Dawson continued.
“I saved screenshots, bank records, hotel receipts, and recordings.”
Ava looked at Jason.
Not at me.
Not at Sarah.
At Jason.
“You told me she knew nothing,” she whispered.
Jason ignored her.
His attention remained fixed on the letter as though he could erase it by staring hard enough.
Mr.
Dawson read the next sentence.
“I also found out Jason paid cash for service work on my car two weeks before the crash.
He told the mechanic not to enter it into the system.”
The room changed.
Until that moment, people had been witnessing the ugliness of a marriage: an affair, secret money, betrayal during pregnancy.
Now they were hearing something else.
Something that made even the funeral staff near the doors straighten.
Jason laughed once, loudly and without humor.
“That’s ridiculous.”
No one answered.
He looked around the chapel as if expecting agreement.
“Cars get serviced.
Husbands pay bills.
