Before I could process the full weight of what I was seeing, the phone vibrated again.

I stood up, stepping back from him like he was a stranger.

“No,” I said. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. Not after today. Not after everything.”

His jaw tightened.

“You don’t understand,” he said.

“Then explain it,” I shot back. “Right now. Why did you take his phone? Why did you pretend to be him? And why the hell are you hiding in a cemetery at three in the morning?”

Andrew ran a hand through his hair, his composure cracking.

“I wasn’t pretending,” he said.

I let out a bitter laugh. “Are you serious?”

“I needed you to come,” he insisted. “And I knew you wouldn’t unless—”

“Unless you manipulated me using the one person I just buried?” I finished, my voice cutting.

He flinched.

“Melissa, please—”

“No,” I said firmly. “You don’t get to ‘please’ me anymore. You left me at my father’s funeral to go on a trip with your mistress. Do you have any idea what that looks like? What that feels like?”

His silence answered for him.

“Start talking,” I said, my voice dropping dangerously low. “Or I call the police right now.”

That got his attention.

His eyes darted to the phone in my hand again.

Then, slowly, he exhaled.

“This… isn’t about the affair,” he said.

I stared at him, stunned by the absurdity.

“You think that makes it better?”

“No,” he said quickly. “It makes it worse.”

A cold knot formed in my stomach.