Before he finished speaking, he ignored the nurse’s attempt to stop him and forcibly held Clara by the arm, dragging her out of the hospital room.
Behind them came the nurse’s confused mutter, “Strange… no one visited Clara these days. I thought she was single…”
Liam’s footsteps paused for a moment, the tips of his ears reddening slightly, yet he still said nothing—only tightened his grip on Clara’s arm.
…
The church was vast—so empty that even the slightest sound echoed. Cold wind seeped in from the open side door, carrying a biting chill that whipped Clara’s thin hospital gown, forcing her shoulders to curl inward against the cold.
“Confess your past sins properly here, and pray for Vanessa’s child,” Liam stood before the altar with his back to her, his voice devoid of warmth. “I’ll have someone deliver food on schedule.”
Seeing Clara unmoving, he suddenly turned around, frowning deeply. “Kneel and confess.”
“Three days and three nights. You can’t leave until you’ve repented enough.”
With that, he walked out without looking back. The thick wooden doors slammed shut by the bodyguards, a heavy *bang* sealing the church away from the rest of the world.
Clara stood still, the silence gradually settling her heart. Slowly, she raised her hand to her chest, closed her eyes, and a faint, sorrowful smile curved her lips.
“It’s not for that child. It’s for Noah.”
“Noah, I’m sorry. Mommy failed to protect you.” Her voice was soft with a choked tremor, yet unwavering. “From now on, Mommy will live well—for you. I’ll see the world for you, try every sweet you never got to taste, live the life you wished for.”
“Mommy won’t be defeated. Never.”
On the third morning, just as the sky lightened, Clara ignored the guards blocking the door, her eyes unwavering as she pushed the door open and walked straight out.
Today was the day she could collect Noah’s ashes from the funeral home. She would bring her son home herself—bury him properly and let him rest in peace.
Before going to the funeral home, Clara bought a new phone. She needed to contact the research institute and confirm the details of her departure. It was her only hope—nothing could go wrong.
Holding the small, icy urn in her arms, Clara returned to the place once called “home.” She went into Noah’s room and gathered his tiny clothes, his toys—each one still carrying his scent—each one tightening the sting behind her eyes.
She carried everything into the yard, piled them together, and lit a match.
Flames rose slowly, illuminating the calm lines of Clara’s face. The clothes and toys crackled in the fire as they burned, sounding almost like Noah whispering farewell.
Just then, Vanessa stepped into the yard holding her purse. The moment she saw the scene, she shrieked—her voice sharp and piercing. “Ah! Clara, what are you doing!”
“My conference is coming up, and you dare escape from the church! Aren’t you afraid of the curse falling on my child?!”
Clara’s movement paused briefly, then she let out a quiet, self-mocking laugh. So the repentance, the supposed danger to the child—it was all a lie. They merely wanted her trapped, unable to ruin Vanessa’s conference and the deceit built on Clara’s incomplete research.
She ignored Vanessa’s hysterics, simply watching the fire until everything turned to ash. Only then did she close her eyes and whisper in her heart, “Noah, goodbye.”
Vanessa trembled with rage as Clara continued to disregard her. She immediately took out her phone and dialed Liam, her voice dripping with exaggerated sobs. “Liam, come home! Clara’s gone insane—she set the house on fire! She didn’t confess properly at church and wants to destroy everything!”
No sooner had the call ended than Liam’s car screeched to a halt in the yard. He nearly stumbled as he rushed in, his eyes finding only Vanessa.
“Vanessa! Are you hurt anywhere? Does your stomach feel alright?” He pulled Vanessa into his arms, his fingers trembling as they brushed her belly, her arms, her face—checking every inch. Only when he confirmed she was unharmed did the tension in his shoulders ease, his voice filled with fright.
Vanessa fell into his embrace instantly, her shoulders shaking slightly as she pointed toward Clara, tears streaming as she whimpered, “Liam, Clara set the house on fire—she said she wanted to burn me and the baby!” She clung to Liam’s shirt, hatred flashing beneath her pitiful expression. “And she ran out of the church—the ritual wasn’t completed—the priest said the baby will suffer… I’m scared we’ll lose our child.”
Liam’s gaze snapped to Clara, rage blazing like erupting lava. “Are you insane?! Starting a fire in the house?” Step by step he advanced, his voice sharp with icy fury. “How many times have I warned you? Do not provoke Vanessa. Do not touch her or the baby! Haven’t you learned your lesson?”
He turned to the bodyguards and barked, “Bind her and take her back to the church! Without my permission, she doesn’t take a single step outside!”
The bodyguards immediately moved forward. Clara clutched the urn tightly—cold, solid, her last tie to Noah. She staggered one step forward, her voice hoarse but unwavering. “I’ll go back myself. No need to drag me.”
Vanessa’s gaze landed on the unremarkable urn in Clara’s arms. At Liam’s back, the corner of her lips curled into a cold, triumphant smile—she would see how long Clara could hold onto her last hope.
Back inside the vast, chilling church, wind swept through carrying dust. Clara held the urn against her chest as if shielding the last ember of warmth, but Vanessa suddenly clutched her stomach and staggered, pointing at the urn with a shrill scream. “Liam! It hurts! There’s something wrong with that urn Clara’s holding! She’s using witchcraft to harm me!”
Liam’s expression darkened instantly—his gaze like an ice-forged blade stabbing into Clara. “Clara, hand over that urn.”
“Impossible.” Clara stepped back, her spine pressed against the cold wall, her hands tightening protectively around the urn, knuckles turning white from the force. “It’s Noah’s ashes. It’s my son’s ashes!”
