I Held Our Dying Sons While She Fed Steak to Her 'Best Friend' novel Chapter 1

On the Fourth of July, my wife, Emma Harris, was supposed to pick up our twin sons from school. But halfway there, she got a call from her "bestie" and decided they could wait.

She left them on the sidewalk and told me to pick them up instead.

I dropped everything—an important client meeting—and rushed to get them.

But I was too late.

Our older son was hit by a car and died on the spot.

Our younger son was barely holding on, lying in my arms, crying in pain, calling for his mom.

The ambulance hadn't arrived.

Neither had Emma.

Before help could come, my younger son died too.

I held their lifeless bodies, overwhelmed by grief.

I called Emma—again and again—dozens of times.

No answer.

Then, Lucas Reed, Emma's so-called "bestie," posted on Facebook:

"Whenever I need you, you're always there."

"Love you forever!"

Six red kiss emojis followed.

The photo?

Emma and Lucas, heads leaning together, their hands forming a heart shape.

I felt nothing but cold emptiness.

I took a screenshot and sent it to Emma.

"Since your bestie is more important than your kids, go be with him."

She didn't show up until after the funeral.

She looked at me and said, "They were seven years old!"

"They should've been more independent."

"But Lucas needs me!"

"Courthouse. 9 AM. Five days from now. Divorce."

I sent the text to Emma and powered off my phone.

I spent three days at the funeral home with Mike and James.

Three days crying until I had no tears left.

On the fourth day, they were cremated.

When I came home, holding their ashes, I walked in on Emma and Lucas feeding each other dinner.

They were smiling like they owned the place.

Like this house had never been mine.

Before, I might've grabbed a bat and cracked both their skulls open.

But after my sons died, Emma became nothing more than a stranger to me.

She and Lucas could do whatever the hell they wanted.

Lucas looked up from his plate, chewing slowly, raising his chin at me in a smug challenge.

I'll admit it—he had a reason to be cocky.

I was married to Emma for eight years, and she never once fed me like that.

Even when Mike begged her, she barely did it.

Now, Lucas picked up a piece of steak and held it to her lips.

I stared at her, disgusted.

"You've got the audacity to ask about Mike and James?"

"Weren't they less important than your bestie?"

They were only seven.

They never got to experience life.

And now, they were nothing but ashes in a box.

Could anything be crueler?

"Oh, come on! You act like I asked for this!"

"All I did was ask you to pick them up for once!"

"And anyway, Lucas needed me!"

"He was going through a hard time!" Emma snapped.

Her words stabbed through me.

I could still see Mike, blood covering his tiny body.

James coughing up blood in my arms, whimpering, "Dad, it hurts… It hurts so bad…"

My heart bled just thinking about it.

And yet, in that Facebook photo, Lucas looked perfectly fine.

Not even a little "devastated."

Emma let my sons die, and she had the gall to stand here and lie to my face?

"Divorce," I said.

"We're done."