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Chapter 4
The ambulance driver was kind enough to drop us off at the funeral home.
The prison guards brought over two documents. After I signed them, my mother and I stayed to cremate my father.
When we got home, holding his ashes, my mother handed me a slip of paper with a phone number on it.
“Eleanor,” she said softly, “this is your grandfather’s old commander. You call him.”
I stared at the number, fury boiling in my chest that I couldn’t suppress.
My father’s final words… it was obvious he’d been threatened. That suicide wasn’t his choice–it was forced on him.
Was I really supposed to run away now?
But then I looked at my mother–her thin shoulders trembling, her eyes red and swollen–and I couldn’t be selfish.
I had to protect her, even if it meant swallowing my pride and leaving everything behind.
So I dialed the number.
The voice on the other end was deep and commanding. After a brief exchange, he said someone would come for us the next day.
I hung up.
That night, my mother and I sat in front of my father’s memorial, keeping vigil until dawn.
When morning came, we took his ashes to find a place for his burial.
Originally, we wanted him buried next to my
randmother.
But by some cruel twist of fate, the plot next to hers had already been taken–by none other than Sylvia’s brother.
I sighed. “Mom… let’s choose another spot. We can move Grandma’s remains, too.”
My mother had clearly noticed The Sylvia’s family plot as well. She nodded and turned to follow me toward the office.
But just as we turned, Veyne appeared behind us -arm in arm with Sylvia.
The moment she saw the urn in my arms, her expression–twisted.
“Eleanor, what are you trying to pull now? My brother is dead and you still won’t leave him in peace?!”
Before I could respond, she lunged for the urn.
“What did you bring–some stray cat’s ashes just to disgust him?”
To protect my father’s remains, I shoved her hard.
She cried out and stumbled backward, straight into Veyne’s arms.
“You okay?” he asked, steadying her.
Sylvia clutched her chest where I’d hit her and shook her head, wincing
Veyne’s face darkened instantly, like storm clouds rolling in.
He took two strides toward me—and slapped the urn out of my hands.
I was prepared, but his strength was overwhelming.
The urn flew into the air.
Ashes scattered like silver snow.
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All over my body. All over the ground.
I stared down at the ashes, trembling, my vision swimming red.
“Veyne,” I said slowly, my voice hollow, “do you even know whose ashes you just scattered?”
He bent down and picked up the urn, now cracked in two, with his long, elegant fingers.
“Does it matter?” he said coldly. “All I know is–you hurt someone who shouldn’t have been hurt.”
And then, without warning, he raised the broken urn… and smashed it into my shoulder.
I didn’t move. Just stood there, stunned.
It felt like my heart had shattered with my shoulder–like pain was growing vines through my chest, wrapping tight around every bone.
“Eleanor!”
My mom rushed to me but didn’t dare touch my shoulder. She sobbed and shouted at Veyne.
“You animal! What did our family ever do to deserve this?! What did Ethan ever do to you?!”
I reached out with my good arm and gently pulled her into a hug.
“It’s okay, Mom,” I said quietly. “It’s over.”
“I was
the fool who trusted the wrong person. Loved the wrong person.”
Veyne’s brows twitched. For the first time, he actually looked me in the eye.
But
I didn’t want to look back.
Not anymore.
I patted my mom’s back, then slowly let go of her and knelt down to gather my father’s ashes.
Warm liquid ran down my left arm.
One drop. Two drops.
Blood, mixing into the silver–white remains.
Veyne stood there, silent. Watching.
Even when Sylvia called out to him, he didn’t move.
The sky darkened as dusk crept in.
Before the wind could rise, my mother and I had gathered every last bit of ash–now clumped with dirt and blood–into my jacket.
Just as we were leaving, Veyne stepped forward, blocking my path with his foot.
“Eleanor,” he said, “whose ashes are these?”
“Say it again. Just once. And I’ll believe you.”
I looked up at him–and smiled.
It was soft. Empty.
“Veyne, it doesn’t matter anymore, Just like you said–it has nothing to do with you. Not anymore.”
I pushed past him without another word, leading my mother out of the cemetery.
We bought a new urn for my father, and we asked the cemetery staff to help move my grandmother’s ashes as well.
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When we got home, a tall young man stood waiting at the front door.
I knew then.
The people sent to take us away had arrived.
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