The cemetery is quiet when we pull up, with a stillness that feels heavy, almost oppressive. I cut the engine and glance toward the far edge of the lot, where a cluster of oaks cast long shadows over the graves. My grip tightens on the steering wheel as I take in the scene ahead, my pulse hammering in my ears.

And there she is—Aubrey.

She’s set up under the largest oak tree, a picture-perfect spread like a scene out of a Southern Living magazine. A checkered blanket, a pitcher of sweet tea beading with condensation, a neat little tray of cupcakes. And right in the center, like a sick joke, a cookie cake with bright, looping letters spelling out Happy Anniversary!

I can’t breathe for a second.

My stomach twists as I stare at those words, at the bright, happy colors smeared across the frosting, as if this is some innocent family gathering instead of what it really is—a twisted performance. A carefully staged manipulation.

Mo exhales sharply behind me, and I reach back to squeeze her knee. “We stick to the plan,” I say quietly, though the words taste like ash in my mouth.

She nods, gripping the edges of her shorts, her knuckles white. Mo lets go to fidget with her long braided hair as she mutters, “This woman’s got a lot of nerve, I’ll give her that.”

Nerve doesn’t even begin to cover it. This isn’t just bold. It’s cruel.

Aubrey looks up as we approach, her face lighting up with a bright smile that’s as practiced as it is disarming.

“Teddy, Selene, Morgan! You made it!” She rises to her feet, brushing nonexistent dust from her dress. Her tone is warm, and inviting, like we’re the family I thought we were gathering for a nice morning picnic.

Teddy.

I used to love the way she said my name like that, warm and affectionate. Now it makes my skin crawl.

I force myself to smile. It feels wrong. Foreign.

“Of course we did,” I say, stepping onto the blanket. “You’ve gone all out.”

Aubrey beams, gesturing to the spread. “Well, it’s a special occasion. Gabriel wouldn’t want anything less.” Her voice softens as she adds, “He loved a celebration, didn’t he?”

The mention of his name shouldn’t hit as hard as it does. But it does. Because Gabriel was real. He was good. And now he’s gone.

Just like my mother.

Just like my father.

Just like her first husband.

Selene nods stiffly, her eyes flicking to the cookie cake before darting away. Mo’s already crouching near the cupcakes, pretending to examine them like she’s considering which one to grab, but I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way she’s holding herself too still.