Gerald's POV
The pre-dawn darkness felt appropriate. Like the world understood that some things were better done in shadows, away from the harsh judgment of daylight.
The black suit lay waiting on the bed. My hands trembled as I reached for the tie. I'd tied a thousand of them in my life, but never with fingers that felt this heavy.
Today, I was burying the love of my life.
Some irony that was. I had a wife asleep down the hall. A newborn daughter in the nursery. A home most people would envy.
And yet I was sneaking out at dawn to say goodbye to the woman who'd ruined me five years ago, the woman I'd never stopped loving.
I dressed on autopilot. Jacket. Watch…. Wedding ring. I couldn't quite bring myself to take it off. What would that say about me? What kind of man was I?
The kind who married one woman to forget another, apparently.
The kind who failed at both.
I grabbed my keys and dark sunglasses, even though the sun wouldn't rise for another hour. I'd need them later. I needed something to hide behind when the grief became too much to contain.
The house was silent as I moved through it. No staff awake yet. No baby crying. No wife wondering where I was going.
Good. I couldn't explain this. Couldn't put into words why I needed to be there, why watching them lower Riley Stevenson into the ground was something I had to witness, even if it killed me.
James was already waiting by the car, dressed in his usual crisp uniform. He didn't ask questions when I'd called him at five AM. Just said he'd be ready.
"Mr. Roth," he greeted me quietly as I approached.
"Crescent Cemetery," he said as I approached, saving me the trouble.
I just nodded and got in.
The drive was a blur of half-light and empty streets. Manhattan looked hollow at this hour; windows dark, roads clean, the city stripped of its usual pulse. It felt wrong that the world kept spinning when Riley Stevenson no longer existed in it.
"Sir?" James's voice pulled me from my thoughts. "We're here."
I looked up to find we'd stopped outside the cemetery gates. Beyond them, I could see a small gathering near a freshly dug grave. Even from here, I knew which one it was.
"Park somewhere discreet," I told James. "I'll walk from here."
"Are you sure, sir? I could…."
"I'm sure."
I got out of the car and wore my sunglasses. Then I walked through the gates and into the cemetery, keeping to the tree line, staying far enough back that no one would notice me.
The service had already started. A small crowd, maybe twenty people, stood around the grave. I recognized a few faces from photos Riley used to show me. Her college friends. Her coworkers from the gallery. Her Best friends. Her mother, standing at the front, her shoulders shaking with sobs.
Mrs. Stevenson. God, when was the last time I'd seen her? Three years ago? Four? She'd always liked me, had been disappointed when Riley and I broke up. She'd called me once, about six months after, to ask if there was any chance we'd work things out.
I'd told her no. Told her Riley had made her choice, and I was moving on.
Another lie in a life full of them.
The pastor was speaking, his voice carrying across the quiet cemetery. Something about ashes and dust, about the temporary nature of life, about finding comfort in faith. Pretty words that meant nothing. Riley was dead. No amount of scripture was going to change that.
I watched from my spot behind an old oak tree as they lowered the casket into the ground. Watched as Mrs. Stevenson threw in the first handful of dirt, her whole body shaking. Watched as others followed, one by one, saying their goodbyes to a woman who'd been vibrant and sharp and so goddamn alive it had hurt to look at her sometimes.
And now she was gone.
The tears came without permission, hot and bitter behind my sunglasses. I didn't bother wiping them away. No one could see me here. No one knew that the billionaire CEO Gerald Roth was standing in a cemetery in the morning, crying over his ex-girlfriend while his wife recovered from childbirth at home.
The service ended. People started to drift away, heading back to their cars, back to their lives. Lives that would go on without Riley in them. How did they do that? How did they just… keep going?
I waited until most of the crowd had dispersed, until it was just Mrs. Stevenson and one other woman, Riley's best friend from college, standing by the grave.
Then I stepped out from behind the tree and walked toward them.
Mrs. Stevenson looked up as I approached. For a moment, she just stared. Then recognition dawned, followed quickly by fresh tears.
"Gerald," she breathed.
"Mrs. Stevenson." My voice came out rougher than intended. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
She moved toward me, and suddenly I was being pulled into a hug. This woman who'd lost her daughter was comforting me. The wrongness of it made my chest ache.
"She loved you," Mrs. Stevenson whispered against my shoulder. "Even at the end. She never stopped loving you."
The words hit like a physical blow. "I loved her too," I heard myself say. "I never stopped. I tried, God knows I tried, but I couldn't."
Mrs. Stevenson pulled back, her hands on my arms, studying my face with eyes that were too knowing, too understanding.
"I know," she said softly. "I always knew."
"I'm married now." The words tasted like ash. "I have a daughter. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't feel like this. But I couldn't… I couldn't not come."
"Of course you came." She squeezed my arms gently. "Love doesn't follow rules, Gerald. It doesn't care about timing or circumstances or who we're supposed to be. It just is."
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
"Your wife," Mrs. Stevenson said carefully. "Does she know you're here?"
"No." I looked away. "She doesn't know… a lot of things."
"Then you should tell her." Her voice was gentle but firm. "Whatever you're carrying, whatever guilt or grief or love is eating you alive, you need to tell her. Secrets like this… they destroy everything they touch."
I thought about Erica, sleeping in our bed, recovering from nearly dying to give birth to a child I could barely look at. Erica, who'd married me knowing I didn't love her, who'd spent five years trying to earn affection I couldn't give.
"It's too late for that," I said quietly.
Mrs. Stevenson shook her head. "It's never too late. Not until you're in the ground like my baby girl."
She released my arms and stepped back, wiping her eyes. "Riley would want you to be happy, Gerald. She'd want you to move on, to build something real with your wife. Don't waste your life mourning her."
But how could I move on? How could I build something real when every time I looked at Erica, all I saw was what I'd lost?
"If you ever need anything," I said, pulling out my wallet and withdrawing a card. "Anything at all. Call me. Please."
Mrs. Stevenson took the card, a sad smile on her face. "You are a good man, Gerald. I hope you remember that."
Was I? Good men didn't marry women they didn't love. Good men didn't abandon their newborn daughters because looking at them hurt too much. Good men didn't stand in cemeteries crying over the past while their future waited at home.
I walked to the grave, my shoes sinking slightly in the soft earth. The headstone was simple: Riley Marie Stevenson. Beloved Daughter and Friend.
They didn't know about the "and girlfriend" part. About the proposal on the beach. About the two years we'd spent building something beautiful before fear made her destroy it.
No one knew that story but us.
I knelt beside the grave, not caring about the dirt on my expensive suit, and placed my hand on the fresh earth.
"I love you," I whispered. "I've always loved you. I'll carry you in my heart until the day I die. I promise."
The words felt sacred and wrong at the same time. A promise to a dead woman while a living one waited at home.
I stood slowly, brushing dirt from my knees, and walked back to where James waited with the car. I didn't look back. Couldn't. If I looked back, I might never leave.
In the car, I pulled out my phone. Twenty missed calls. Ten from the hospital. Five from my assistant. Three from Kester.
I called Kester back first.
He answered on the first ring. "Jesus Christ, Gerald, where have you been? I've been trying to reach you for hours."
"I'm fine." I leaned my head back against the seat, suddenly exhausted. "Just needed to take care of something."
A pause. Then, quieter: "The burial was today, wasn't it?"
Of course he knew. Kester had been my friend since college. He'd been there through the entire relationship with Riley, had witnessed the proposal and the devastating rejection. He was one of the few people who understood why I'd married Erica so quickly after.
"Yeah," I said. "It was today."
"How was it?"
How was it? How was watching them bury the woman you loved? How was standing there knowing you'd never see her smile again, never hear her laugh, never get the chance to ask why she'd said no?
"Hard," I managed. "It was really hard."
"I'm sorry, man. I know you… I know she meant a lot to you."
Meant a lot. Such insufficient words for what Riley had been to me. She'd been everything. My best friend. My lover. My future. Until she'd taken all of that and thrown it away because she was too scared to let herself be loved.
And now she was gone.
"I'm going to miss her," I said, my voice breaking.
"Gerald…"
"I have to go," I cut him off. "I need to get home."
"Wait, are you…."
I hung up and closed my eyes, letting the phone rest against my forehead.
"James, take me home."
"Yes, sir."