I Personally Cremated My Husband Chapter 03
Once Petra and Marco went to their room to sleep off their exhaustion, I was finally alone in the funeral parlor.
I walked over to the casket and slipped the vial of simulated-death serum I’d smuggled out of Rosalia’s office from my pocket. Feigning a final adjustment to his collar, I drew a double dose and drove the needle directly into the side of Galen’s neck.
Morning broke, and the funeral kicked off right on schedule. Top brass and fellow soldiers trickled in, one after another.
Dressed in stark black, I wore a mask of profound grief but played the gracious hostess to perfection, quietly earning the room’s admiration.
“My condolences, Delia. You’re being incredibly strong,” General Lawrence Ratcliff told me, his eyes rimmed red from crying.
I just nodded. Outside, the hearse rumbled to life. Flanked by a rigid military salute, we pulled away, inching slowly toward the crematorium.
In the back of the car, I checked my watch. The clock was ticking. I needed to see Galen wheeled into that incinerator before the serum wore off.
If I failed, I’d end up dying exactly the same way I had in my two previous lives.
The convoy had just started to pick up speed when Petra and Marco darted out into the middle of the road. They planted themselves directly in the hearse’s path, arms thrown wide. “Stop! Stop the car!”
Petra pounded her fists against the glass, her face slick with tears. “You can’t cremate him! You can’t burn my son! You monster! You won’t even let us ride with him? Do you have no conscience at all?”
Marco was openly sobbing now, white-knuckling the door handle. “Galen! My poor son!”
I took a slow, deep breath, let the grief settle back over my features, and pushed the door open. “Petra, Marco… he’s gone. We have to stick to the schedule. We need to give him the dignified send-off he deserves because we love him. He won’t be able to rest in peace if you do this.”
I stepped up and gently took Petra’s arm. “Petra, we can’t put this off any longer. For Galen’s dignity, and honestly, for your own health, we have to go.”
“Dignity? You’re about to burn my son. To hell with dignity!”
Petra violently shoved my hand away, glaring at me with wild, bloodshot eyes. Out of time and desperate, she finally shrieked, “You can’t burn him! My son isn’t dead! This is murder!”
A dead silence fell over the crowd. The military officers, the enlisted men, and the family friends completely froze.
Murder? They stared at Petra in absolute disbelief before shifting their eyes to me.
A fleeting look of triumph crossed Petra’s face. But just as she opened her mouth to press her advantage, I let my own tears spill over. I didn’t show an ounce of panic—only a heavy, devastating sorrow. “Petra, doing this… It’s only going to keep Galen from finding peace.”
Sobbing quietly, I turned to the onlookers. “Commanders… everyone… I am so sorry for this disruption. Please, don’t hold this against his parents. They’ve been through hell. Since Galen passed, they haven’t eaten or slept a wink. They’re completely delirious.
“The doctor actually warned us this might happen—that their extreme grief could trigger a severe stress reaction, scrambling their memories and making them say things that just aren’t true.” I looked back at Petra and Marco, keeping my gaze utterly devoid of blame. “They aren’t trying to cause a scene or tarnish Galen’s sacrifice. They just… they love him so much. They can’t accept that he’s really gone.”
I sold the lie with absolute, heartbreaking sincerity—sounding exactly like Petra and Marco had when they twisted the truth beyond recognition to the investigators during my first life.
Right on cue, the crowd’s shock melted into deep sympathy for the grieving parents.
“I understand,” Lawrence nodded solemnly, looking at me with a blend of awe and pity. “This is incredibly difficult for you, Delia. You’re grieving your husband, yet you’re still looking out for his folks.”
Lieutenant General David Simonds let out a heavy sigh. “It’s true. No parent should have to bury their child; the shock is unimaginable. Let’s move. Get his parents to a rest area and have the military medic check them out.”
A handful of soldiers rushed forward, gently but firmly guiding the shouting couple out of the street. To the spectators, Petra and Marco’s screaming and struggling no longer looked like an accusation—it was just the agonizing, desperate heartbreak of parents who had lost their son.
The hearse slipped back into gear. Bathed in the pale morning light, the convoy rolled onward toward the crematorium, and this time, we didn’t stop.
The hearse pulled to a stop outside the crematorium. Just as the staff stepped up to take over, a white sedan slammed on its brakes, skidding to a halt right in front of the procession.
Rosalia shoved her car door open. “Wait!” she yelled. “You can’t cremate him! The hospital just found an equipment malfunction. The brain-death diagnosis might be wrong!”