The silence that followed was heavier than the casket.

“Evan Vale,” Detective Miller said, hauling the struggling man to his feet by the chain of the handcuffs.

“You are under arrest for the murder of Emma Vale, and the murder of your unborn child.

You have the right to remain silent.”

Evan was hyperventilating, his perfectly styled hair hanging in his face, spit flying from his lips.

He thrashed wildly against the detective’s grip, his eyes locking onto mine with a hatred so profound it felt radioactive.

“You think you’ve won, Margaret?” Evan screamed, his voice cracking, echoing hideously through the sacred space.