The Night He Chose Her

Elinor POV:

My mother's hand shot out like a lightning bolt, a sharp, resounding slap echoing through the quiet cemetery. Aaron reeled back, his hand flying to his reddened cheek.

"How dare you, Aaron Britt!" my mother shrieked, her voice trembling with fury. "How dare you stand here and pretend to grieve? You left my daughter to suffer alone! You let her child die!"

Aaron's eyes narrowed, a dark storm brewing in their depths. He opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, a soft, pathetic wail cut through the air.

Brie Wade.

She emerged from behind a cluster of headstones, her face tear-streaked and pale, her eyes fixed on Aaron. She wore a too-large, familiar-looking jacket that I suddenly recognized as Aaron's.

"Aaron!" she cried, her voice a fragile whisper. "Are you coming home? Are we going home?"

My father, his face purple with rage, stepped forward. "Aaron, what in God's name is this? Bringing your mistress to our son's funeral?"

Aaron flinched, his eyes darting nervously between my parents and Brie. "Dad, please. It's not like that. Brie… she's not well. She followed me. She shouldn't be here."

"Not well?" my father scoffed. "And Elinor is supposed to be well, after what you've done? Your priorities are sickening, Aaron. Absolutely sickening."

Brie lowered her head, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. She looked like a wilting flower, utterly heartbroken and innocent. It was a practiced performance, one I had seen on the dashcam footage countless times.

"I-I'm so sorry," she choked out, her voice barely audible. "I just… I was so scared. I thought he was going to leave me again. I just needed to see him."

Aaron immediately moved to her side, his arm wrapping around her protectively. "She needs me, Elinor. She's delicate. You know this."

My mother, her entire body shaking with suppressed rage, turned to Aaron's parents, who had remained silent, looking utterly mortified. "And you two? Do you condone this? Your son, abandoning his pregnant wife for this… this conniving girl?"

Aaron's mother, her face etched with shame, stepped forward. "Aaron, son, you need to think about what you're doing. Elinor needs you. We need you."

But Aaron ignored her, his grip tightening on Brie's arm. He looked at me, his expression a mixture of defiance and a strange, desperate plea. "Elinor, you know she's fragile. She has a diagnosed condition. I can't just abandon her."

"Fragile?" I asked, a cold, hard laugh escaping my lips. "And I'm not? My baby just died, Aaron! Because you chose her 'fragility' over our child's life! How dare you talk about fragility to me?"

Brie sniffled, pulling away from Aaron slightly. "I'm so sorry, Elinor. It's all my fault. I'll leave. I'll just… I'll just go." She took a staggering step back, as if about to collapse. "I'll pack Aaron's things. I wouldn't want to intrude anymore."

She stumbled again, then, with a dramatic gasp, she fell to her knees, clutching her chest.

Aaron's hand, which had been gripping mine just moments before, suddenly tightened. His eyes flickered, a primal instinct taking over. But then, he paused. He looked at my face, then at Brie, then back at me. A long, agonizing moment stretched between us.

He didn't move. He didn't rush to her side. He simply stood there, his hand still clenching mine, his body rigid.

"Elinor," he said, his voice flat, emotionless. "I will stay for a little while longer. But Brie needs me. She is my responsibility."

He then turned to Brie, who was still on the ground, subtly peeking through her fingers. "Brie, stop it. You need to pull yourself together. Elinor is my wife. My legal wife. We are going to grieve our child."

Brie's whimpers turned into a choked sob, then she let out a piercing shriek. "You don't care about me! You never did! You just used me to escape!" She scrambled to her feet, her eyes blazing with a wild, desperate anger. "I hate you! I hate you all!" She turned and ran, stumbling blindly through the headstones, disappearing from sight.

Aaron stood there, his face unreadable. He made no move to follow her. He just stared into the distance where she had vanished, his hand still holding mine, though it trembled almost imperceptibly.

I felt it then, a strange tremor in his grip, a silent confession of something he couldn't verbalize. This wasn't about love for Brie. This was about obligation, a twisted sense of duty he couldn't shake. He couldn't love her. Not the way he had loved me. I remembered the way he used to look at me, the way his eyes would soften, crinkling at the corners when I laughed. The way he would trace the lines of my hand when he thought I wasn't looking. That was real. That was ours.

But it was gone. All of it. Erased by his choices.