The hospital's VIP wing smelled like antiseptic and expensive flowers. I walked down the corridor with Jase's urn cradled against my chest. It was smaller than I expected. Seven years of his life reduced to something I could hold in two hands.
I'd chosen the simplest container. Nothing ornate. Jase wouldn't have wanted that. The bronze felt warm against my palms, like it was holding onto some last trace of him.
Then I heard her voice.
"Roselyn!" Kimberly's tone was bright, performative. "I heard about your loss. I wanted to pay my respects."
She stood near the nurses' station in a cream Chanel suit, her hair perfectly styled. Next to her was Myla's nanny, holding my daughter's hand. Myla wore a pink dress with white ribbons. Six years old. Beautiful. A stranger.
"Thank you," I said quietly. I moved to walk past them.
Kimberly stepped into my path. "Myla wanted to see you. Didn't you, sweetie?"
Myla stared at her shoes. The nanny looked uncomfortable.
Kimberly pulled a small pink bag from her purse. "I brought candy for the drive home. You know how she gets cranky." She crouched down, showing Myla the contents. Pastel-colored chocolates. "Just one before lunch, okay?"
I watched Myla take a piece. Kimberly handed the bag to the nanny, her fingers brushing against Myla's cheek, her hand. Too much contact. Too deliberate.
Then Kimberly straightened and smiled at me. Her eyes were empty. "She's such a good girl. So careful about what she eats."
I tightened my grip on the urn.
Five minutes later, Myla started coughing.
The nanny noticed first. "Myla? Honey?"
Myla's hand went to her throat. Her breathing turned raspy, strained.
"Oh my God!" Kimberly's scream cut through the corridor like a siren. "She can't breathe! Someone help her!"
Nurses rushed over. The nanny fumbled for Myla's EpiPen. I stood frozen, the urn still pressed against my ribs.
Kimberly whirled on me. "What did you do?" Her voice rose to a shriek. "What did you give her?"
"I didn't—"
"You poisoned her! She has a peanut allergy and you know it!" Kimberly's face was red, tear-streaked, a perfect mask of maternal terror. "You monster! You tried to kill my baby!"
"She's not your baby," I whispered.
The corridor had gone silent except for Myla's gasping and the rustle of the nurses administering the injection. Other visitors had stopped to stare. A doctor approached.
Then Rafael arrived.
He strode down the hallway with two men in tailored suits flanking him. Business associates. Witnesses. His eyes swept the scene—Myla surrounded by medical staff, Kimberly sobbing, me standing apart with Jase's urn in my hands.
"What the hell happened?" His voice was ice.
Kimberly threw herself at him. "She tried to hurt Myla! I saw her! She had peanuts and she—"
"I didn't touch her," I said. My voice was steady. Flat.
Rafael's gaze locked onto mine. There was no question in his eyes. No hesitation. Just cold, absolute judgment.
"You're exactly the kind of woman I always knew you were."
The words landed like physical blows. His business associates shifted uncomfortably. One of them looked away.
Something inside me snapped.
I stepped forward and slapped Kimberly across the face.
The sound cracked through the corridor. Kimberly stumbled back, her hand flying to her cheek. For one second, her mask slipped. Her eyes glittered with triumph.
Rafael's hand clamped around my wrist. His grip was brutal, fingers digging into bone. "Don't you dare—"
Kimberly lunged.
She moved fast, her hand striking the urn before I could react. The bronze container flew from my grip and hit the marble floor with a sickening crack.
It shattered.
Jase's ashes exploded outward in a pale grey cloud, spreading across the white tiles like fog. I watched them settle, watched the fine powder coat the polished surface, watched my brother disappear into the floor of a hospital corridor while strangers stared.
I dropped to my knees.
My palms pressed flat against the marble, over the largest concentration of ash. It was soft under my hands. Impossibly soft. I stayed there, silent, while the nurses murmured and Myla's breathing evened out and Kimberly wept theatrically into Rafael's chest.
I cupped what little I could gather. The ash clung to my skin, grey and fine. Some of it slipped through my fingers no matter how carefully I tried to hold it.
When I stood, my hands were coated. Grey dust streaked my black dress.
I looked at Rafael.
He stood three feet away, one arm around Kimberly, watching me with an expression I couldn't read. Disgust, maybe. Or indifference.
I held his gaze for exactly three seconds. I felt nothing. No tears. No rage. No love. Just a vast, echoing emptiness where all of that used to be.
Then I turned and walked toward the exit.
Behind me, I heard Kimberly's sobs intensify. I heard Rafael's low voice murmuring comfort. I heard his footsteps move away from me, toward her.
I didn't look back.
My hands were still cupped, still holding the last fragments of my brother as I stepped through the automatic doors and into the cold night air.
