"Alright, let’s go. Jamie’s still waiting for us."
From beginning to end, Rachel never once looked at me.
I silently stepped aside to let them pass.
As she walked past me, her eyes finally landed on the urn in my arms. Her expression twisted in disgust.
“What is that? So dull and dirty… You're seriously holding that thing? God, it’s revolting.”
With that, she wrapped her arms around Luke and left the house without a backward glance.
I lowered my head, brushing my fingers gently over the smooth surface of the urn.
“It’s okay,” I whispered. “Mom didn’t mean you. Don’t take it to heart.”
I placed the urn carefully on the coffee table and began packing up my daughter’s belongings.
Her clothes. Her toys. Her little drawing board.
There was still a half-finished picture taped to it—three stick figures, clumsily drawn, standing side by side. Her small hands had trembled with excitement as she painted it.
I stared at the canvas, and the dam inside me broke. I collapsed onto the floor, holding the painting to my chest, sobbing until I couldn’t breathe.
In those three years of raising her alone, I never spoke a single bad word about Rachel in front of her. I gave her everything I could. I tried to fill the gap of a mother who never cared.
But no matter what I did, she always longed for the moments her mother missed.
---
By the time night fell, I had packed her life into a few sealed boxes.
The moving company I contacted earlier arrived right on time. One by one, they carried the boxes out to the truck.
“Mr. Wells, that’s everything. We’re ready.”
I nodded. Then, turning back inside, I placed the signed divorce agreement squarely on the coffee table—right where Rachel would see it.
When I stepped out, I clutched the urn close. For the first time in years, I felt… light. Not at peace—but weightless, like a man who had finally set down a burden that had hollowed him out.
As I got into the car, my phone buzzed with a message.
Luke:
Brother Ethan, sorry again. Rachel won’t be home for a few days. She insisted on staying here to take care of Jamie. Hope you understand.
This time, I didn’t feel anger. I didn’t feel grief.
I felt nothing—except a strange urge to laugh.
Without hesitation, I pulled out the SIM card, snapped it in half, and flicked it out the window as the car began to move.
Clutching the urn against my chest, I watched the villa—the place I had called home for five years—shrink in the rearview mirror, until it disappeared entirely.
---
Meanwhile, at Sinclair Hospital, Rachel was by Luke’s side when her parents arrived and stopped her in the hallway.
Her face immediately darkened.
“What, is Ethan insane? Acting all noble at home and now sending you here to guilt-trip me? Disgusting…”
Before she could finish, her father’s hand came crashing down across her cheek.
SLAP.
“You heartless beast!” he roared. “You let your own daughter die—your own blood!—and now you’re playing nursemaid to the mistress’s son like nothing happened?!”
Rachel staggered, stunned.
“Dad… what are you saying…?”
