18/01/2026
Two weeks after burying my cousin, I found myself haunted not just by grief but by the secret she took her final breath protecting. A secret that now threatens the man I married, the life I built, and the love I thought was unshakeable.
The rain came down in sheets, as if the sky had run out of ways to mourn her.
I clutched the cold metal railing of her grave, pretending the numbness in my fingers was from the weather and not the guilt.
People whispered pity behind black umbrellas.
“Such a young woman…”
“Terrible illness…”
No one knew the truth that her death wasn’t the cruelest thing that happened to her.
It was what she discovered before the end that truly broke her.
In her final hours, the hospital smelled of antiseptic and fear.
She grabbed my wrist so tight I could feel her pulse trying to outrun time.
“Don’t tell him,” she whispered, eyes glossy with dread.
“Promise me.”
I nodded, not realizing that silence could be its own kind of betrayal.
When the coffin disappeared beneath the dirt, grief didn’t settle it lingered like a question no one dared to ask.
To be continued….