The “Deceased” Donna Chapter 06
John saw the news in the cathedral.
The traffic camera footage had been leaked online.
A woman, alone, weeping as she drove. Rounding a curve. Losing control. Slamming into the guardrail. And then the fireball.
The comments poured in.
*”That’s the Donna of the Cromwell family? Mona? I thought Don John was madly in love with her?”*
*”The hospital recording is out—he married her just so their child could save Riva.”*
*”When she crashed, he was in a church, praying for Riva.”*
*”This is disgusting.”*
Riva’s and Carr’s identities were dragged out too.
New York’s gossip pages, TikTok, Twitter—every platform was talking about the love-triangle scheme.
My lawyer told me later that John called my phone over and over, his hands shaking so badly he could barely hold his own.
The Underboss delivered the news with regret in his voice.
“Don. Before Mona left, she signed divorce papers.”
“The hospital confirmed the identity. The deceased is Mona. The gestational age of the fetus matches.”
“Mother and child. Both gone.”
John dropped to his knees on the spot.
He kept muttering, “It’s impossible. She survived a war zone. How could she die in New York?”
He went to the morgue.
Security footage of that moment was leaked. In the video, he pulled back the white sheet, saw the charred body, and went completely still.
Until he saw the warped black ring on the right ring finger. Donna’s ring.
The one he had placed on my hand himself.
He held that ring and wept until his voice gave out.
He said, “Mona, I didn’t want to hurt you. I only wanted to get through Riva’s surgery and then start a real life with you.”
“I married you. I was going to take responsibility. Why wouldn’t you wait for me to explain?”
I didn’t wait.
By that time, I was back in a small town in the Hudson Valley.
After my parents died, the memories were too painful, so I hadn’t returned to the old house in years.
Dust had blanketed everything.
I spent a full day cleaning, then lay down in my childhood room and slept a deep, dreamless sleep.
In the dream, John was still the boy who lived next door.
He clapped his hand on my shoulder and said, “Don’t cry, Mona. We grew up together. I’ll protect you. I’ll always be on your side.”
But later, the boy who promised to always be on my side had walked to Riva’s.
When I woke, the pillow was soaked.
But that ripping, unbearable pain I used to feel—it was gone.
Perhaps once you die once, love no longer matters so much.
I only wanted to live for myself now.
I used the inheritance from my parents to open a flower shop next door.
Sunlight, fresh blooms, quiet streets—little by little, they pulled me out of the past.
Six months later, John found his way here.