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Chapter 795:
The first rays of sunlight broke through the gray clouds as Cole’s SUV disappeared over the horizon. The sun rose over Long Island, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. A new day had dawned. For June, it was the first day of the rest of her life. For Cole, it was just another day in the hell he had made for himself.
The morning mist had not yet burned off when the black Maybach rolled to a smooth stop in the VIP parking lot of the Long Island Cemetery. The air was heavy with moisture and the sharp scent of damp pine needles.
Easton stepped out of the driver’s side first. He opened a massive black umbrella, the fabric pulling taut with a snap, and walked around the hood to open the passenger door.
June stepped out into the cold air. She wore a perfectly tailored black trench coat that fell past her knees. In her hands, she held a large bouquet of pristine white calla lilies — Vivian Erickson’s favorite flowers. Her fingers gripped the green stems tightly, the cold moisture from the petals seeping into her skin.
They walked side by side down the slate stone path that led deep into the cemetery. The only sound was the wind rustling through the tall pine trees, a low, sweeping sigh that made the silence feel even heavier.
June stopped in front of Vivian’s headstone. The red spray paint that Susan Beasley had used to deface the marble was gone. The cemetery management had scrubbed the stone completely clean, and the white marble looked cold and pure in the gray morning light.
𝖣i𝗌𝘤ove𝗿 𝘩𝗂𝗱d𝘦𝗇 𝘨e𝗆ѕ 𝘰𝘯.со𝘮
She bent down slowly, her knees popping softly in the quiet air. She placed the white calla lilies gently at the base of the headstone, then reached out, her bare fingertips tracing the carved letters of her mother’s name. The stone was freezing against her skin, but she did not pull her hand away.
Easton took exactly three steps back. He maintained a careful distance — close enough to shield her if anything happened, but far enough away to give her this private moment with her mother.
June stared at the small porcelain photograph embedded in the stone. A single tear broke free, sliding down her pale cheek and dropping onto the wet grass. It was not a tear of grief. It was the physical release of ten years of suffocating pressure.
“It is done,” June whispered, her voice barely louder than the wind. “The people who took you from me. The people who stole everything we had. They are in federal prison right now. They will never see the sun as free people again p>
Easton watched her thin shoulders rise and fall with a slow, deep breath. His dark eyes held a heavy mixture of pain and profound respect. He knew the absolute hell this woman had crawled through to reach this patch of grass today.
Fifty miles away, on the New York Interstate Highway, Cole Compton had his SUV pushing ninety miles an hour, weaving through the sparse morning traffic with no real destination. His eyes were bloodshot, fixed blankly on the gray asphalt ahead. He had planned to drive to the upstate estate — to run from the mess he had left behind in the city.