Chapter 4

"What do you mean, you're coming?" Mark repeated, his voice shaking with a confusion he couldn't hide. "Liam's fine. He's with my mother. I told you that."

He was lying, trying to convince himself as much as her. He was retreating into a fantasy where none of this was real.

Sarah ignored him. She crawled forward, her body screaming in protest, and began to carefully scoop the gray dust from the floor with her bare hands. The texture was fine and soft, like silt. This was all that was left of her son.

Jessica watched, her arms crossed. "What is she doing now? This is the most pathetic thing I've ever seen. Is that dirt? Are you really this desperate for attention? Trying to get more money out of him with this little show?"

Sarah didn' t even look up. Her world had shrunk to this small patch of floor and the precious remains of her child.

Annoyed at being ignored, Jessica took a step forward. "I'm talking to you," she said, and then she kicked at the pile of ashes. The gray dust scattered across the floor, mixing with the grime in the corners of the room. A fine mist of it hung in the air.

A choked gasp escaped Sarah's lips. The pain in her abdomen flared, a sharp, stabbing reminder of her injury, and she collapsed onto her side, unable to move. She couldn't protect him. Not even now.

That final act of cruelty broke something deep inside her. The dam of her restraint shattered, and a torrent of grief and rage poured out.

"That was my son!" she shrieked, the sound raw and inhuman. Tears streamed down her face, hot and furious. "That was my baby!"

She started to sob, great, heaving sounds that tore at her throat. "I worked three jobs," she cried, the words tumbling out between gasps. "I worked until I couldn't stand up. I sold my mother's wedding ring. I begged you for money, Mark. I begged you. And you told me I was lying."

She pushed herself up, wincing in pain. "He died. He died in a hospital bed, and I wasn't there because I was scrubbing someone else's toilet to pay for the medicine you wouldn't buy him. Do you understand? He died alone!"

The memory of it, the raw, undiluted truth, filled the room. "I couldn't even afford a proper urn," she whispered, her voice cracking. "They gave me his ashes in a cardboard box. And you... you just..." She gestured helplessly at the floor.

She thought of the life she had dreamed of. A simple life. A small house, a garden, the sound of a child's laughter. It was all she had ever wanted. She had supported Mark's ambitions, believing they shared that dream. She'd put his needs before her own, time and time again.

"Was it just a game to you?" she asked, her voice hollow. "Was our whole life a joke? Was my son's life just an inconvenience that got in the way of your new girlfriend and her diamonds?"

She looked at him, her eyes pleading. "He was your son, too, Mark. He deserved better. He deserves a proper resting place. Please."

The truth, in all its ugly detail, finally broke through Mark's wall of denial. His face went pale. His eyes darted from Sarah' s anguished face to the gray dust on the floor. The ashes. Liam's ashes. His son.

A low, strangled sound escaped his throat. His legs gave out, and he sank to the floor, his body trembling. He stared at the mess he had made, his mind finally, horribly, catching up with reality.

Jessica, sensing she was losing him, rushed to his side. "Mark, come on," she said, her voice sharp and impatient. "Don't listen to her. She's just trying to manipulate you. It's what she does."

For the first time, Mark turned his fury on her. He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. "Get out," he roared, his voice cracking. "Get out of my house!"