His Widow

PART

**POV: Lila**

When they lowered his coffin into the ground, I didn't cry.

My legs trembled. I felt as though I was keeping myself from collapsing by keeping my hands clasped together in front of me. No tears, though. Nothing but quiet. And it wasn't grief that caused the heat between my legs, on my neck, or in my chest. The man next to me told me everything.

Cole, Ethan.

The best friend of my deceased husband.

I wasn't touched by him. At no point during the funeral. But he gave me a look. As if he was aware. As if he sensed it too.

He handed me a folded piece of tissue, and his palm touched mine. My breath caught not because of the tissue. Warm, rough, and lingering longer than necessary, it was his fingers.

I shouldn't have experienced any emotions.

I had just laid my husband to rest.

However, I experienced everything.

Fear, hunger, and guilt.

And despite the priest's words, the fictitious prayers, and the white roses that were placed atop Richard's coffin, Ethan's gaze remained fixed on me.

He waited until everyone had left-until my parents had gone, until the pathetic coworkers had gone, until the sound of wood hitting dirt had turned to silence.

Then he said something.

"This evening, you shouldn't be by yourself."

He spoke softly. The way Richard used to speak was different. Richard let out a bark. managed. demanded.

Ethan remained composed. steady. His words encircled me like cozy blankets.

I took a swallow. "I'm all right."

"No, you're not."

I looked over at him. His outfit was too flawless. His jaw was too clenched. Nor had he shed a tear.

I remarked, "You didn't even like him."

He twitched his jaw. "I held him in high regard."

"Is that the nature of this?" I gave a sour laugh. "Decency?"

His gaze fell to my lips.

"No," he replied. "There's more to this."

He took a step toward her. I gasped.

There was nobody in the cemetery. It was just the wind rustling the grass and Ethan and me.

I muttered, "I shouldn't."

"No," he concurred. "You ought not to."

However, neither of us made any movement.

The heat surged through me once more, sharper and lower, as his fingers touched my cheek. Richard hadn't touched me in that way in months. It hasn't felt like anything in years.

He said, "Come home with me."

My heart struck my ribs hard.

"I can't," I uttered.

"Then I'll accompany you."

I started to respond negatively. However, the word never arrived.

since I didn't want to be by myself. I didn't wish to recall. I didn't want my home's silence to consume me.

Furthermore, I didn't want Ethan to stop staring at me in the same manner as he was right now.

I gave a nod.

On the drive back, he remained silent. Nothing but quiet. The wheel is in one hand. The other was on the equipment.

And me?

I was unable to look away.

Those forearm muscles. The strain his suit put on his chest. He had a rich, clean, and deep scent. Not at all like Richard's stale cologne.

With trembling hands, I unlocked the door when we arrived at my house. As if he had done it a hundred times, Ethan followed me inside. Perhaps he had.

There were no lights on. The throw blanket Richard detested was still on the couch. From the mantel, the picture of our wedding day gazed at me.

I flipped it over.

"Are you hungry?" My voice was too high as I asked.

Ethan remained silent.

Rather, he approached me slowly and deliberately, as if he had endless time.

Once more, he reached for my cheek. slid into my hair after that.

He said, "You don't need to be strong right now."

I glanced up at him.

Something broke inside of me.

I then gave him a kiss.

It was crazy. Warm. False. So incorrect. I felt something genuine for the first time in a long time, though, as his arms encircled me and his mouth opened against mine.

My back struck the wall. He ran his lips down my neck. Trembling and hungry, my hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt.

He was helpful to me. Silently. Gently.

Then his hungry lips found their way back to mine. In a desperate situation.

Clothes fall to the ground.

I didn't give a damn.

This was what I needed.

I asked him.

With a sort of reverence that made me want to cry, he lifted me up as if I were weightless, carried me to the couch, and laid me down.

His lips first touched my collarbone, then moved down until I was out of breath. until I moaned his name into the silent house as my nails dug into his back.

He went slowly, as if he wanted to savor every moment.

I gave him permission.

Because I wanted to erase all other memories.

And I wasn't a widow in those moments-tangled, gasping for air, hurting. I wasn't damaged.

I was only Lila.

He was Ethan, too.

For a long time, we remained skin to skin, our hearts too loud.

But when I saw the envelope, the moment fell apart.

The coffee table held it. White. sealed.

using the handwriting of Richard.

I went cold.

Ethan looked after me.

He remained motionless.

I said, "You knew something."

He shut his eyes.

"Lila-"

"You had some knowledge about Richard prior to his passing."

I only needed his silence as an answer.

With my heart thumping with fresh terror, I sat up and wrapped the throw blanket around myself.

"Ethan, what did you do?"

He didn't respond.

But I could tell everything I needed to know from his face.

All of a sudden, I no longer felt secure.

Not with him.

Not here at home.

Not with this reality hidden behind a kiss.

Ethan repeated, "You're not ready to know the truth," in a hard, low voice that was a warning and a confession all at once.

My fingers gripped the envelope as if it were going to pierce my flesh.

"So, what brings you here?" My voice cracked as I asked.

His jaw did not loosen, but his eyes did soften. Since I didn't want you to be by yourself. Since I've always-

He halted himself.

I waited.

He did not, however, complete the sentence. Rather, he took a step back, as though separating us would reverse our recent actions. His chest rose and fell quickly as his shirt hung open. So did mine.

I said, "I think you should go."

Ethan remained silent. With a single nod, he turned to face the door.

But he stopped in the middle.

"Lila, I didn't kill him."

I felt sick to my stomach.