Free The Drazen World: Irrelevant (Kindle Worlds Novella) by Allyn Lesley

never been planted in my womb. That botched abortion I had to have to save my name took away my ability to ever have children with someone who truly deserves me. Jonathan Drazen robbed me!” I stagger back from the rabid animosity. “And to top it off, he brings you here. Flaunting his affair in my face … at my home!” She’s shaking in her rage. “A fucking irrelevant bitch and a stable boy. You two deserve each other.”
    I open my mouth to say something, apologize for causing her pain unintentionally and to beg for answers.
    “Another trip down a flight of stairs can always be arranged.”
    Her chilly threat snatches the air out of my lungs, and I fall to my knees.
    “Now pack your shit and leave my home!” Her gaze, filled with hate, speaks louder and more clear than the words she’s just uttered. “I won’t hesitate to call the police if you’re not gone in fifteen minutes.” She’s a flurry of black dress when she whirls away, my heart destroyed without a single care. My mind is confused about where I’m to go.
    “This is your stop,” the Lyft driver tells me, snapping me out of my memory and back to the passenger seat of his compact car.
    I step outside and face the early morning. A muggy kind of heat that makes my clothing stick to my body and sweat pour from me in a matter of minutes follows me as I climb the steps of one of Manhattan’s oldest places of worship. The imposing architecture, which almost kisses the powder blue sky, does very little to block out the scorching sun. I finally reach the top of the stone steps and pull hard on the overly large doorknob.
    As soon as I enter, there’s a big, glossy picture of Jon in a dark gray suit seated on a desk at Drazen Inc.’s headquarters on Fifth Avenue. I don’t see the smile on his lips that I saw often in the cottage. He looks as I met him on the patio at his wedding reception: dark, imposing, dangerous. I hurry past the picture of the man the newspaper announced a week ago died inside a car driven too fast and wrapped around a street lamppost.
    Each pew I go past is packed with notable faces such as former and current mayors from New York City to men and women who look like they’re conquerors in their respective fields. I don’t need a seat anyway because I don’t plan on staying. I join the back of the line to wait my turn for a chance to see him one last time.
    My heart clenches and my stomach is as unsettled as it was when Monica shared the news of Jon’s death. My eyesight blurs with tears that won’t fall. I look up to see I’m next to be able to view the casket, and that’s when I think I hear the whispers off to my right. I keep looking forward, guessing the sources for the low commotion.
    I almost stop breathing at the sight in front of me.
    He’s so still.
    I reach the front but can’t go closer to the casket. His suit is crisp and boasts of luxury as he’d worn all his clothing in life. But he’s so pale. His red hair is neat and slicked back. I find the courage to go closer and graze his patrician nose, then his lips with my fingers. My heart begins to hammer once again. My stomach somersaults, and my equilibrium is disrupted. An uncontrollable wail leaves me because everywhere I touch him is cold and stiff, not warm and soft as it once was.
    “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Monica flings my hand from her husband’s face. I turn but can’t see below her wide-brimmed hat or beyond her darkly tinted sunglasses covering her eyes when she finally tips her head back.
    “Leave. Now.” Maria’s on my other side, gritting her hate for me through her teeth.
    Low chattering starts again. This time I’m not imagining it. The talk I hear grows louder as the three of us stand idle in front of the casket.
    “Who is that?” I overhear a feminine voice ask.
    When I peep over one of my shoulders, several women are definitely talking behind their hands and are wearing curious stares. I don’t have to worry about