Came Back to Bury Them

The day I was awarded the highest service medal, I got a call that my grandfather had died.

My superiors approved emergency leave, and I rushed straight back to the family estate without stopping.

The moment I reached the hillside cemetery behind the house, what I saw snapped something inside me.

Our family burial ground had been completely leveled. My parents' graves had been dug open.

Their urns had been turned into flower pot bases, with dark-red roses planted right on top of them.

My grandfather's coffin had been split apart. His body was left exposed in the dirt, already starting to rot.

And my younger brother, Jerry Horton, who was on the autism spectrum, was being ordered around like a laborer by my husband's assistant, Digby Wolfe, hauling construction materials back and forth.

I lost it.

I grabbed Digby and slammed him into the ground with a hard shoulder throw.

"You touched my family's graves and made my brother do manual labor. Are you trying to get buried here with them?"

Digby coughed up blood as he struggled to his feet, sneering at me.

"This was Mr. Gray's decision. He said your family plot is in a good location, with plenty of space. It's perfect for building a golf course for the future Mrs. Gray. In Joule, Mr. Gray is the law."

His tone was icy.

"And who do you think you are?"

I swallowed my rage and called Marshall Gray.

"I hear you run Joule," I said. "Well, I'm about to change that."

Marshall's voice came through the phone, arrogant and amused.

"You sure talk big. Go ahead and try, then. Since you don't know your place, I'll show you how things work in Joule. Talking to me like that is enough to get you killed."

The line went dead. He hung up without hesitation.

He didn't even recognize my voice.

We had been married barely over a month when I was sent on a classified mission and cut off from all contact.

I was gone for seven years. Before I left, I entrusted my family to Marshall, my new husband.

And now, my loved ones were humiliated because of me. Even in death, they weren't allowed to rest. It was clear I had trusted the wrong man.

Digby smirked when he heard the busy tone.

"You hear that? Mr. Gray doesn't even know who you are, you crazy woman. Your threats are nothing. And you said this is your family plot, huh? How dare you pretend to be Mrs. Gray? The real Mrs. Gray has been dead for years!"

I froze.

So while I was gone on that mission, Marshall had publicly declared me dead.

Digby waved his hand, and a group of security guards closed in around me.

"Mr. Gray now only has eyes for the superstar, Ms. Lawson," he said mockingly. "If you wanted to scam someone, you should've done your homework. Pretending to be a dead ex-wife? Please. Dead people should stay in their coffins. Now get out of here."

The folks watching nearby started whispering and pointing.

"She didn't even research properly. She's pretending to be a dead woman whose body's probably dust by now!"

"Exactly. Trying to pass herself off as the richest man's wife. She should take a look in the mirror!"

I said nothing. I walked toward my parents' urns, the ones being used as flower pot bases, planning to dig them out and rebury them properly.

Digby stepped in first and kicked one of the ceramic urns hard.

It shattered instantly. My parents' ashes spilled across the ground, mixing with dirt and fertilizer.

He grinned viciously. "Ashes from the dead make great fertilizer. Perfect for Ms. Lawson's roses. At least they're useful now. She said this junk was taking up space, anyway. Flowers look much better."

My eyes burned red.

Those were my parents. They had died serving the country, and Marshall had benefited plenty from their martyr status over the years.

And this was how it ended. They didn't even have a place to rest.

Jerry let out a broken sound when he saw the ashes scatter. He rushed forward without thinking, trying to scoop them up with his bare hands.

"No…" he cried. "No…"

Digby kicked him away in disgust. "Get lost, you idiot! Don't dirty Ms. Lawson's roses. A retard trying to protect ashes? Give me a break."

Jerry rolled across the ground. Shards of broken ceramic sliced into his palms. Blood poured out, but he still tried to gather the ashes with shaking hands.

As I watched Jerry curl on the ground, his body covered in old and new injuries, something inside my chest finally snapped completely.