I fell to my knees, crawling forward through the churned dirt. My trembling hands gathered the ashes—now mixed with mud and spit—piece by piece.
The fragments sliced into my palms, blood dripped into the soil, but I felt no pain.
Just then, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
Mechanically, I pulled it out. The screen lit up with a message from Eliana.
[Jared, I promise this is the last time.]
[I've already arranged for a specialist. I'm taking Gideon abroad for treatment tomorrow.]
[Once he's cured, everything will be fine again.]
[Don't worry. All the pain you've suffered—I'll make it up to you someday.]
I stared at the message, expressionless.
Taking off my soaked jacket, I wrapped the ashes carefully, almost tenderly. Then, without a word, I buried the phone in the earth beside my mother's grave, stood up unsteadily, and walked away—one heavy step at a time, never looking back.
