But I didn’t let go of the urn.
My child. The last thing I still had of him. My arms locked around it like my body understood I had nothing else left to hold onto.
Vincenzo’s roar filled the staircase, shaking the walls.
“Have you lost your mind, Olivia? You’re disrespecting my parents inside my own house?”
I blinked slowly. I swallowed the metallic taste in my mouth and said nothing.
He came closer, his voice sharper now.
“My mother told me everything,” he spat. “You insulted her. You spilled tea on her on purpose. You even threatened them.” His face twisted in anger. “Do you think that’s amusing? Huh? You think that makes you strong?”
I tried to speak—but another blow came before I could form the words.
Harder this time.
My head jerked sideways, pain exploding down my neck and spine. I tasted blood.
Then Lena’s voice drifted down from the stairs, soft and sweet like it belonged to something poisonous.
“Vincenzo… don’t bother yourself with her,” she said gently. “She’s not worth your anger, baby. You know she’s unstable.”
And just like that, his rage shifted.
He turned toward her, and in an instant, his expression softened—as if someone had flipped a switch inside him. As if I’d never mattered at all.
“You’re too forgiving,” he said to Lena. “That’s why she keeps stepping out of line.”
Lena made a small sad face. “She’s been weird all day. I tried to understand her, but… she really hates me. I can feel it.”
On the couch, Noel didn’t even pretend to care. His headphones dangled around his neck while music still played. He looked at me and smirked.
To him, this wasn’t conflict. It was entertainment.
A performance.
The maids stood frozen at the edge of the dining room, whispering like they were afraid to be noticed.
“She’s still holding that urn…”
“She didn’t even defend herself…”
“I heard she went to the ocean alone with it…”
My chest already felt like it was empty long before their words reached me.
Vincenzo’s eyes finally dropped to my arms—to the white urn I was holding like it was something alive.
“What is that?” he asked.
Before I could move, he grabbed it from me.
“No!” I shouted—but it came out too late.
He held it up, turning it over in his hands like it was nothing important. Something disposable.
“So you’ve been walking around the city with this?” he said coldly. “Crying to people for attention?” He shook it slightly, almost mocking. “What is this supposed to be? Another one of your pathetic attempts at sympathy?”
My stomach dropped.
My breath caught.
“It’s an urn,” he said with a scoff. “Who died this time? Your pride?”
Lena let out a quiet laugh behind him. Noel snorted like he was watching a joke unfold.
I stood there, blood still drying on my lip, heat burning through my face.
And finally, I spoke.
“Give it back.”
Vincenzo lifted it higher, taunting me with it.
“Why? Who is it even supposed to be? What is this act now—collecting ashes for attention?”
I didn’t blink.
“My son,” I said quietly. “Gabriel.”
Everything stopped.
Vincenzo’s hand froze.
Lena’s smile vanished.
Noel’s expression dropped.
Even the maids went silent.
For a moment—just one breath—no one moved.
Then it slipped.
Or maybe he let it.
“No—!” the sound tore out of me.
It hit the floor.
A sharp crack echoed through the room.
And then everything broke.
Ashes. Bone fragments. Ceramic shards.
My son—what was left of him—spread across the marble like he had never been held, never been loved, never even lived.
My scream came out raw and broken. I dropped to my knees instantly, hands shaking as I tried to gather him back together. My fingers scraped the floor, but I didn’t feel the pain. I didn’t feel anything except the emptiness growing inside me.
Behind me, Vincenzo sighed like he was bored.
“Stop screaming like someone died,” he said flatly. “You’re not the victim here.”
My hands were covered in ash now. My breath came in uneven gasps. My vision blurred, but I couldn’t stop.
Then he spoke again.
“I got the hospital report this morning,” Vincenzo said calmly. “Gabriel is fine. Alive. Sitting up. Smiling. The doctor even sent proof.”
I froze.
The ashes beneath me blurred further.
Alive?
No.
That couldn’t be right.
I was there. I held him when the monitors stopped. I felt his body go still in my arms. I watched them cover him because there was nothing left to do.
“You’re lying,” Vincenzo said, stepping closer until his shadow covered me completely. “You made this up. You staged it. You drugged him just to get attention. Just to play the victim.”
I lifted my head slowly, shaking.
“He died…” my voice cracked. “He died in my arms…”
“Enough,” he snapped. “Shut up.”
Lena stepped in softly, her voice trembling in a way that felt rehearsed.
“Maybe she did it because of me,” she whispered. “Maybe she hates me so much she wanted me to suffer too…” Her eyes shifted to the ashes. “Maybe she wanted me to imagine that… being me one day. Broken. Gone. Like that.”
She let out a shaky sob and collapsed dramatically onto the couch, trembling like she was made of glass.
“Come on, sweetheart,” she said weakly, grabbing Noel’s hand. “Let’s go. Mommy can’t breathe around this… this darkness. I don’t want you seeing things like this.”
Noel frowned but didn’t resist. He just followed—trained, obedient.
Then Vincenzo wrapped his arm around Lena’s waist like she was the only thing steady in the room.
“Don’t waste your tears on her,” he murmured into her hair. “You’re the only one who matters. Let’s leave her here with her mess.”
I was still on the floor, gathering what remained of my son with shaking hands. Ash smeared across my skin, streaking the tiles like something trying to cling to life.
Then Noel suddenly broke away.
He ran straight toward me.
His shoe came down hard.
Right on the ashes.
“Witch!” he shouted. “You made my mom cry!”
He stomped again.
And again.
The remains of my son scattered further across the floor—like even what was left of him wasn’t allowed to stay whole.
