Chapter 3

Returning home, I found Rodger already there.

He was sitting on the couch. When he saw the urn in my hands, his eyes flickered with unease.

Yet, in the next moment, he had regained his icy composure.

He didn't comfort or embrace me. He simply stood up and said lightly, "Nicole, Jacob is dead, and he cannot come back to life. But we must carry on. You have to find a way to move on."

He asked me to move on.

I lifted my gaze to him.

I remembered three years ago when Jacob had a sudden high fever at midnight, convulsing and twitching.

At that time, Rodger was in another city dealing with a complicated international negotiation worth billions.

In a panic, I called him and cried, "Jacob is gravely ill."

Without hesitation, he canceled the negotiation and flew back overnight.

He rushed into the hospital room and pulled me into his embrace. He said in a hoarse voice, "Don't be afraid. I'm back. Nothing is more important than you and Jacob."

The warmth of his embrace still haunted my memory, but the air felt bitterly cold now.

I forced a faint smile and replied in a low voice, "Alright. I'll try to find a way to move on."

Rodger assumed I had come to terms with things and visibly relaxed. The tension between his eyebrows eased a bit.

A few days later, Jolene moved into our home under the pretext that she needed company for her trauma.

Rodger didn't ask for my opinion.

But what difference would it make?

I no longer had the energy to question it.

He had often ranted about Jolene after he was drunk.

He condemned that she had left him without hesitation. He complained that she was brutal and heartless.

Now I realized that his "hatred" for Jolene was merely another form of lingering attachment.

One day, when I returned home and opened the door, I was stunned.

Jacob's room had been completely different.

His favorite dolls, Legos, and toy cars were all gone.

The starry wall mural I painted was covered by a giant white canvas.

In the center of the room stood an easel.

Jolene was sitting in front of it, humming as she mixed paints.

When she saw me, she wasn't surprised at all and even smiled. "Nicole, hi. Look! I tidied up the place a bit. Isn't it much neater now? Since it was just a spare room, I figured it would make a good art studio for me."

A surge of anger clouded my vision and blurred everything before me. "Who gave you permission to touch Jacob's things?" My voice trembled.

"I..." Jolene feigned innocence. "I saw those things were old and taking up space, so I helped you get rid of them."

"Bring them back to me." I forced out each word.

"They're all thrown away." Jolene spread her hands. "The garbage truck took them this morning."

"I said bring them back to me!" I screamed, lunging at her.

Rodger burst in at that moment.

He grabbed my arm and pushed me away. "Nicole, what's gotten into you?"

His shove sent me reeling, and my back slammed against the doorframe as I collapsed to the floor.

He didn't even glance at me. Instead, he anxiously checked on Jolene. "Are you alright? Did you get injured?"

"I'm fine, Rodger." Jolene immediately nestled into his embrace. She trembled slightly, and her voice was perfectly tinged with grievance. "I just wanted to tidy up the room and make a memorial painting for Jacob... I didn't expect such a strong reaction from her..."

As she spoke, she sneaked a provocative glance at me.

Did she want to make a memorial painting?

I propped up my weakened body and looked at the enormous white canvas.

On it were swirling shades of gray, like dense fog or the ashes of something burned out.

My gaze froze suddenly.

I stared fixedly at the palette beside the easel.

Among the paints, there was some gritty, bone-like grayish-white powder not fully mixed.

A chilling realization shot up my spine and seized my mind.

My eyes darted frantically around the room.

It finally landed on the nightstand where Jacob's urn should have been.

It was empty.

The small black velvet box that held my entire world was gone.

A jolt of horror struck me and split my sanity instantly.

I raised my head, and my eyes turned bloodshot as I locked onto Jolene. I asked in a trembling voice, "What did you use to paint this?"

Jolene peeked out from Rodger's arms as she smiled innocently.

She pointed at the gray painting. "Of course, I used Jacob's ash. Rodger said you wouldn't let go of that box, so you couldn't move on. So I thought I could turn him into art. So he'll always be here with us in another way. Look! The hues of his ash are hauntingly beautiful."