Chapter 1 - The Vipers at the Altar
The first thing Daniel did at Emma and Ethan’s funeral was kiss Vanessa, his mistress, beside their coffins.
The second was point toward me and announce, loudly enough for nearly two hundred mourners to hear: “This is what happens when an irresponsible woman calls herself a mother.”
The chapel fell into a suffocating silence.
Two small white coffins rested beneath extravagant arrangements of lilies. Emma’s was decorated with a silver butterfly, her favorite creature to chase in our garden. Ethan’s had a wooden airplane attached to the lid, a replica of the one he always held while sleeping. I had chosen both designs at three in the morning, when my hands were trembling so badly that the funeral director had to hold the catalog steady for me.
Daniel stood near the altar in a perfectly tailored black suit, acting the part of the grieving patriarch. Vanessa clung to his arm in a pearl-colored dress, behaving as though she had every right to stand beside him in this sacred, heartbreaking space.
I walked toward them, my heels clicking softly against the marble floor. Every eye in the room was fixed on me, judging, pitying, or condemning based on the narrative Daniel had spun over the past few days.
“Not here,” I whispered, keeping my voice steady despite the storm raging inside my chest. “Please. Let our children have peace.”
His expression changed the moment I came close enough to smell Vanessa’s nauseatingly sweet perfume. The mask of a sorrowful father slipped, revealing the cold, calculating monster underneath.
Then, without hesitation, he struck me.
The sharp crack echoed through the vaulted ceiling. Gasps moved through the chapel like a sudden winter wind, but I did not fall. I remained standing, tasting blood on the inside of my cheek.
Daniel immediately leaned toward my ear, placing a hand on my shoulder, pretending to comfort a hysterical wife for the watching crowd.
“Keep talking,” he whispered, his grip tightening until it bruised my collarbone, “and you’ll regret it.”
Beside him, Vanessa gave a quiet, satisfied laugh, shielding her smirk behind a black lace handkerchief.
In the front row, my mother gasped and started moving toward us, her face pale with fury. But I raised one hand, giving her a subtle signal to stop.
I did not stop her because I was frightened.
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I stopped her because the small, high-definition camera hidden inside the black mourning brooch on my dress had captured everything. It had recorded Daniel’s face, his violent actions, and every threatening word he whispered into my ear.
He thought he was silencing me. He didn't know he was only handing me the first weapon in a war he could not possibly win.
