"Wendy, I know I can't make you stay anymore. Take this card—as a way to make up for everything."
I looked down at the black card in her trembling hands and suddenly let out a low laugh.
How ironic.
Seven years ago, she used money to make Claudia disappear. And now, seven years later, she wanted to use money again—this time to send me away. To keep me quiet. To make sure I didn't cause trouble.
Still laughing, I took the card. Then I turned and walked toward the funeral van, clutching Nathan's cold, fragile body tightly in my arms.
Emily ran after me, sobbing, her voice hoarse. "Wendy, at least let Nathan be buried in the Lawrence family cemetery. Please..."
I shook my head. My voice came out weightless, carried away by the breeze. "He doesn't deserve it."
No. It wasn't Nathan who was undeserving. It was the Lawrence family. That cursed patch of earth didn't deserve to be his final resting place.
Emily stopped in her tracks, stunned into silence. After a long pause, she took a breath and tried again, softer this time. "Then... at least let me hold a funeral. Even if it's just a memorial tomb. He deserves that much, doesn't he?"
I didn't answer. But I didn't stop her either. I let her make the arrangements.
By the time I got home, night had already fallen. I stepped through the door with Nathan's urn pressed against my chest—only to hear the sound of Jake's low, satisfied laughter coming from the living room.
I stood in the entrance, the dim hallway light casting a long shadow. There they were, tangled on the sofa—Jake and Claudia. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her smile smug and content.
My gaze was hollow. Empty.
Jake looked up, his eyes meeting mine. His smile vanished. He pulled away from Claudia and stood, towering over me with his usual arrogance.
"You still know your way home?"
I said nothing. My fingers lightly stroked the urn, my movements tender—like I was lulling Nathan to sleep.
Jake's brows furrowed. His gaze swept past me toward the hallway. "Where's Nathan? Get him out here. He needs to apologize to Claudia and I might just forget the whole matter."
He said it like he was doing me a favor. As if all this was some minor inconvenience to him.
Nathan's only "crime" was recognizing that Claudia wasn't his mother. And for that, he had to pay with his life?
I looked up slowly, the corners of my lips curling into a bitter smile.
"Nathan is dead."
Jake blinked. For a second, he seemed genuinely caught off guard. Then his expression twisted into fury.
"What kind of joke is that?" he barked. "You think that's funny?"
He laughed—a cruel, mocking sound that echoed through the living room.
"You think you can threaten me by hiding the kid? Is that it?"
His voice grew sharper. "Overindulgent mothers raise useless sons. Hide him all you want. Let him rot in the dark like a rat—just like you."
I stared at him, blank and unmoving, as if watching a stranger rant about someone I didn't know.
Jake sneered. "What, cat got your tongue now?"
He yanked his phone from his pocket, pulled up a video and shoved the screen in front of my face.
"Let me remind you who you really are now that Claudia's back where she belongs."
The screen lit up with a grainy video—that nightmare from seven years ago. A circle of unfamiliar men surrounding me. My body trembling. Jake, just outside the frame, his smirk cold as ice.
I froze. The room tilted. My stomach churned with nausea, but no tears came. Not anymore.
"You see that?" Jake hissed, his voice full of venom. "You were never Claudia. You're just a filthy whore I dressed up and played house with."
"For seven years, I had to watch this video every damn day just to stomach being near you."
He pulled a card from his wallet and flung it at my face, followed by a photo—one from seven years ago, before the surgery.
"Here. Take the money and fix that face. I can't stand looking at you anymore."
The photo fluttered to the floor. I looked down at it—the woman staring back at me barely resembled the person I was now. And yet, she was me. The real me.
Yet I couldn't recognize her at all.
I didn't cry. Didn't scream. I didn't even flinch.
Jake studied me, waiting for a reaction. Any reaction. His expression twisted with irritation when I gave him none.
"What's wrong? Nothing to say now?"
Still no response.
His rage snapped. He turned, yanked something from beneath the coffee table and slammed it onto the glass.
It was a LEGO box—still unopened.
