He followed Yvette to her other house. In reality, it was an abandoned house she stumbled upon while laying low from debt collectors in the middle of nowhere.
Over two days, she meticulously diced up the man into pieces, mixing his remains with those of swine that had succumbed to disease, and delivered it all to an industrial incinerator meant for harmless disposal. All that remained was his ring finger bone with the ring still encircling it.
Ayden's ring was too small for the swollen, decaying finger. Yvette boiled the flesh away until only the bone remained, which she kept close to her always.
As her due date approached, Yvette returned to H City. Penniless, she reached out to her late sister's best friend for help. It was then she learned of Ayden's suicide.
Her diary entries spoke volumes, "I heard Ayden killed himself for love upon discovering the truth about my sister's death. How could he commit such a romantically tragic act for a woman he didn't love? Why do the men in my life betray me, deceive me, use me, and then discard me? It's not fair!"
The pages that followed were filled with her delirious rantings.d2
In essence, she believed herself more deserving of Ayden's love than her sister ever was.
Rosalynn, piecing together Yvette's subtle references to Ayden from previous entries, had an epiphany. Yvette, precocious and infatuated with Ayden from the start, had stubbornly sought to prove that her sister was never the object of his affection. Thus, after Ayden's descent into madness and murder of Betsy, Yvette's diary showed little sorrow, only joy.
After the child was born, Yvette's diary documented her withering spirit. Dates ceased to matter; only fragments of life were recorded—initially about Rose, occasionally about Natalie, and eventually, it was all about Betsy and Ayden.
She claimed Betsy's vengeful spirit haunted her relentlessly, and only alcohol could shield her from those tormenting visions. She wrote of Betsy's nightly laments, crying that even in hell, her relationship with Ayden was troubled—he had moved on to other spectral seductions.
Towards the end, the scrawling became erratic, clearly the work of inebriation.
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