I went to bu:ry my father… and found my husband’s mistress sitting in the front row, wearing my missing Versace like it belonged to her.

I finally took the envelope. Inside were printouts of texts and emails. Screenshots. A hotel invoice. Photos of the two of them together that she’d apparently kept because women in affairs always think they’re collecting memories when what they’re really collecting is evidence.

My eyes landed on one date and stopped.

It was the day of my father’s second chemo crash. The day I’d called Grant three times from the ER because Dad’s blood pressure had dropped and I was scared. He eventually texted, In a meeting, can’t talk. Love you.

The attached receipt showed room service for two at a boutique hotel in Napa. Champagne. Late check-out.

My mouth went dry.

“He told me your father was manipulative,” Becca said quietly. “He said once your dad died, he’d finally be free.”

I looked up so fast she recoiled.

“Free?”

She nodded, already crying now. “He said your father kept him on a leash. That he had to act a certain way until things were settled. He said there would probably be a period of public grief, but after that everything would open up.”

Open up.

Like a trust. A house. A widow’s guard dropping.

I sat back slowly.

“He brought me to the funeral because he said…” She wiped her nose with a paper napkin, humiliated and angry in equal measure. “He said it was time people got used to seeing us together. He said your marriage was basically over, and after the service there would be conversations and maybe some scandal, but then we could stop hiding.”

I thought about her in my dress, sitting in my seat, holding his hand while my father’s casket faced the altar. Public grief. Public transition. He really had been trying to debut her.

My skin went cold.

“What about the dress?” I asked.

Her face crumpled. “He told me you’d donated it. He took me to your house when you were at the hospital. He said he had permission.”

That lined up perfectly with the housekeeper’s voicemail.

“He also asked me to do something else,” she said.

I held very still.

She reached into her bag and pulled out a USB drive. “A few weeks ago he had me print some documents at the office because he didn’t want them going through his home printer. Medical forms. Financial summaries. He said it was for estate planning. I didn’t think…” She swallowed. “I didn’t think.”

I stared at the drive.

“What’s on that?”