A lot happened when a congressman died.
Even when he died in a way nobody quite knew how to explain.
There were funeral arrangements.
Paperwork.
Phone calls.
Statements.
People from Alex’s office who kept saying things like legacy and public service and the congressman’s wishes.
There were people I’d never met asking me questions about the man I’d slept beside for years.
And as much as I wanted to lock myself inside my childhood bedroom and disappear, I couldn’t.
I had a funeral to plan.
I had papers to sign.
And I had AJ.
AJ, who wanted to know when he could go home.
AJ, who wanted to know why Daddy was on television.
AJ, who wanted to know why everyone kept whispering.
AJ, who still didn’t completely understand that his father wasn’t coming back.
My family had questions.
The police had questions.
Even Sterling had questions.
“Mrs. Johnson?”
I looked up.
The funeral director was watching me.
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s perfectly fine. I was asking if Congressman Johnson had any particular musical selections he would have wanted included in the service.”
Music.
I should know that.
Shouldn’t I?
I stared down at the booklet in front of me.
But my mind wasn’t on music.
It was on a conversation I’d had with Sterling earlier.
“Arranged marriage?”
He had asked it differently than the detectives had.
They had sounded suspicious.
Sterling sounded hurt.
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Then what was it like?”
I didn’t know how to explain it.
Especially to him.
Sterling leaned against the edge of his desk.
“I was coming for you, Allyson.”
I looked away.
“Sterling—”
“I was.”
His voice was quieter.
“I thought you knew that.”
Maybe I had.
Maybe that had been the problem.
Everybody knew.
Our mothers knew.
My father knew.
His father knew.
Granny definitely knew.
Mama and Sterling’s mother had practically picked out our wedding china before either of us had finished college.
Sterling Brooks was going to be somebody.
Everybody said it.
He’d gone off to Howard and excelled.
Then Harvard.
Law.
Big opportunities.
Big plans.
There were jokes that he was going to be the next Johnnie Cochran.
Meanwhile, I was studying art history and had absolutely no idea what I wanted to do with my life.
Everybody had an opinion.
Graduate school.
Museum work.
Teaching.
Move to D.C.
Wait for Sterling.
Marry Sterling.
Have Sterling’s babies.
It felt like everybody knew what my life was supposed to look like except me.
Then I met Alex.
Alex didn’t ask me what I planned to do with my degree.
He didn’t ask where I saw myself in five years.
He didn’t tell me what I should want.
He offered me something nobody else seemed willing to give me.
Time.
He was older.
Focused.
Already moving through politics with an intensity I found fascinating.
Local office was only the beginning.
He was planning his move toward state politics before he’d even finished celebrating his last win.
Eventually, he wanted Washington.
And somewhere in those plans, he needed a wife.
Not immediately.
Not constantly.
Just someone who understood what his life required.
He was honest about it.
He’d be busy.
There would be campaigns.
Late nights.
Travel.
Events.
He needed someone beside him for the image.
Someone who understood that sometimes the marriage would have to make room for the career.
Was it romantic?
No.
Was I madly in love with him?
No.
But could it work?
I thought so.
And at twenty-something years old, sustainable sounded pretty damn good.
I hadn’t grown up poor.
Not even close.
But I’d never felt independent.
Not really.
With Alex, I did.
He didn’t question where I went.
He didn’t ask why I bought something.
He didn’t care if I spent an afternoon in a gallery, took a class, flew somewhere for the weekend or decided I wanted to redecorate an entire room because I was bored with it.
There was freedom in our arrangement.
And somewhere along the way, the arrangement became a fondness.
Alex tried.
He really did.
He checked on me.
Sent gifts from whatever city he happened to be in.
Sometimes he got it completely wrong.
Once, he sent me this enormous box of expensive chocolates.
With nuts.
I was allergic.
I called him laughing.
He was horrified.
The next week, a box showed up at the house filled with what had to be several pounds of sour gummy candy.
After that, every time he traveled somewhere new, he found some ridiculous sour candy and sent it home.
Tokyo.
London.
Paris.
Chicago.
Some tiny shop in Wisconsin that apparently made sour gummy worms strong enough to remove enamel.
The trips.
The dinners.
The people we met.
The rooms we entered.
Everything moved so fast.
Then AJ came.
My sweet baby boy.
I smiled just thinking about him.
And maybe that was when everything changed.
Because watching Alex become AJ’s father did something to me.
I saw a version of him nobody else got.
The man who walked the floor at three in the morning because AJ wouldn’t sleep.
The man who had an important meeting but sat on the nursery floor in a suit because his son wanted him to play.
The man who could barely change a diaper without acting like he’d survived combat.
Somewhere in there, I realized I loved my husband.
Not the way people wrote love stories.
It wasn’t fireworks.
It wasn’t Sterling and me at seventeen making promises we had no business making.
It was quieter.
I knew how Alex liked his coffee.
I knew which medicine he needed when he got sick.
I knew exactly what he would forget to pack before a trip.
I knew when his flight landed without checking because I’d already memorized the itinerary.
I waited for his calls.
Sometimes I still got excited when I heard his car pull into the driveway.
I loved watching him with AJ.
I loved his laugh.
God.
His laugh.
His nose crinkled.
His whole body shook.
Sometimes he couldn’t even finish whatever he was trying to say.
I loved that.
I loved—
“Ally Cat.”
Sterling’s voice was gentle.
Too gentle.
And suddenly I couldn’t breathe.
Because my husband was dead.
Alex was dead.
And my son loved his father.
My baby was going to spend the rest of his childhood missing him.
I covered my face.
The sob came so hard it hurt.
“Ally.”
Sterling moved toward me.
I shook my head.
“No.”
He stopped.
Someone else was in the room.
Then another person.
I didn’t know who.
Sterling started clearing them out.
“Give us a minute.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“I want you gone too.”
His face changed.
“Allyson—”
I wiped my face.
“How stupid was I to call you?”
“You weren’t stupid.”
“I thought I needed you.”
“You did.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
I needed Alex.
And Alex was dead.
I stared down at my hands.
“Unless I need you here as my lawyer, I want you gone.”
Sterling didn’t move.
“Send my daddy in, please.”
For a moment, I thought he might argue.
Then he nodded.
“All right.”
He left.
Days passed.
I didn’t call him.
Sterling didn’t call me either.
His legal assistant became the person who communicated with me.
Documents appeared.
Questions were answered.
Things were handled.
The life insurance paperwork came next.
The amount was obscene.
Enough that I read it three times because I thought I’d misunderstood.
There were other accounts.
Assets.
Benefits.
Things Alex had apparently arranged without ever discussing them with me.
His family was furious.
They still believed I had something to do with his death.
Maybe I couldn’t blame them.
There was footage of me leaving the house hours before Alex was found dead.
There was a dead congressman.
There was a wife who hadn’t called 911.
And there was still no explanation for who shot him.
The Augusta house would be sold quietly.
I couldn’t imagine ever walking through those doors again.
For now, AJ and I would stay with my parents.
I spent most of my time in my childhood bedroom.
I wasn’t hungry.
I wasn’t sleeping.
I didn’t want to talk.
A soft knock came at the door.
Then Granny’s voice.
“Girl Girl.”
I looked up.
She stood in the doorway holding a plate.
A SunButter and jelly sandwich.
I almost smiled.
Almost.
It had been Granny’s cure for everything since I was little.
Bad day at school?
SunButter and jelly.
Boy broke my heart?
SunButter and jelly.
Failed a test?
SunButter and jelly.
Apparently dead husband and possible murder investigation qualified too.
I nodded.
She came inside.
Granny set the plate beside me.
Then walked straight to the curtains.
“Granny—”
She opened them.
Sunlight flooded the room.
I squinted.
It almost hurt.
“Good.”
“How is that good?”
“Means you still alive.”
She sat beside me.
For a minute, neither of us spoke.
Then she touched my leg.
“Granny knows.”
I looked at her.
“But you can’t waste away, Girl Girl.”
My eyes filled again.
“That little boy needs you.”
I nodded.
“I know.”
“Knowing and doing ain’t the same thing.”
“I know.”
She patted my knee.
“And that boy took care of everything.”
I knew exactly which boy she meant.
I stared at the sandwich.
“He’s sitting in the driveway but sending his assistant in.”
I looked at her.
Granny raised an eyebrow.
“Hoping and praying.”
“Granny.”
“I ain’t say nothing.”
“You just said plenty.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
I sighed.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her expression softened.
“Take your time.”
She kissed my forehead.
Then left.
I stared at the closed door for a while.
Then picked up my phone.
Maybe I would call Sterling.
Not because Granny told me to.
Not because he was sitting outside.
Because I owed him an apology.
My phone had been on silent.
The screen lit up with more notifications than I could count.
Calls.
Texts.
News alerts.
Emails.
I started clearing them.
One after another.
Until one headline stopped my thumb.
I read it.
Then read it again.
CONGRESSMAN JOHNSON’S SECRET AFFAIR WITH ALLEGED MAFIA PRINCESS TIFFANY MORETTI
The room went completely still.
I tapped the notification.
CLICK FOR PART 5 – I THOUGHT I KILLED MY CONGRESSMAN HUSBAND. BREAKING NEWS TOLD A DIFFERENT STORY.