“Well? What do you think?” she asked, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. “Imagine—hands trained to hold a scalpel, now wasting time scribbling for your pathetic family. You should feel grateful.”
I stared at her, grief and fury clawing at my chest. “Give it back to me.”
That was my sister’s ashes — I couldn’t lose her again.
But Natalie only let out a low, disdainful laugh. “Oh, you like it that much? Then…”
Before I could move, she flung the figurine hard toward the road. It hit the pavement with a dull thud — rolling straight into the street.
Natalie’s voice rang out, sharp and cruel. “If you’ve got the guts, go pick it up yourself — right there in the middle of traffic!”
She tossed her hair back, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes and walked away without a trace of remorse.
I stood frozen, trembling with rage and disbelief. Just as I rushed forward, a massive truck roared past — crushing the clay figurine to dust before my eyes.
For a moment, my heart simply stopped.
Kneeling on the cold pavement, I gathered the shattered remains piece by piece, my tears blurring everything. When I finally lifted my head, my gaze landed on the massive screen across the street—it was playing the video from two days ago.
In the video, Zayn stood beside me, smiling as we celebrated my birthday—playing the part of the perfect husband for all to see.
Countless people envied “Mrs. Flynn.” But behind that illusion was nothing but ruin.
If Zayn had never cared for me, then I would stop forcing myself to stay.
I took out my phone, wiped my tears and booked a flight for the next afternoon — 2 p.m., to Rosehill.
When I finally returned home with my sister’s ashes in my arms, I froze in the doorway.
Zayn was kneeling on one knee before Natalie, his expression soft and intent as he carefully wiped her smooth feet with a towel.
A dull ache spread through my chest, sour and suffocating.
In all our seven years of marriage, Zayn had never once treated me with such gentleness.
And now, all that tenderness belonged to Natalie.
When Natalie saw me return, a flicker of triumph flashed in her eyes. She drew her foot back slightly and looked at me with open provocation.
“Zayn,” she said coyly, “I told you there’s no need to wipe my feet…”