“No!” I ran, screaming, shoving at the guards. “Don’t touch her! Don’t you fucking dare touch her!” But Hakeem moved quicker. He grabbed me, yanked me back by the waist, spun me around and held my chin with one hand, steel-hard.
“You disobeyed me,” he growled. “You humiliated her. You mocked her pain. Now you’re gonna understand what loss actually feels like.”
I kicked. I struggled. My lungs burned from screaming. But no one stopped. No one cared. The ground cracked open in front of me. Shovels slammed into wet soil, flinging mud into the air as they dug past the stone markers and through the freshly packed earth.
Then I saw it.
My mother’s urn.
Black. Rain-slicked. Covered in dirt. Everything in me shattered.
“No! Please!” I dropped to my knees, throat raw. “That’s all I have left of her, Hakeem. Don’t do this. I’m begging you.”
He crouched beside the grave, staring at the urn like it was nothing but a paperweight. Then he spoke…quiet, even. Like this was business.
“The doctor gave me the report this morning.”
I froze.
“She went into short-term respiratory arrest from water inhalation and impact trauma. And they found a dislocated hip, nerve strain, too. Recovery will take months. And even then…” he trailed off.
“She may never dance again. You knew how she loves dancing but you took that from her." He glanced at me. But there was no warmth. No love. Just cold resolve. “You think I’m gonna let that slide?”
I shook my head, sobbing. “She faked it, Hakeem, she jumped! You saw her smile—”
“You broke her. So now I break yours.” And then, without hesitation… He dropped the urn.
It hit the mud-covered ground and shattered. Ash burst upward. Caught in the wind. Swirled in the rain like smoke from a funeral pyre.
I screamed. It didn’t even sound human. I dropped forward, trying to gather the pieces, hands clawing through the mud, through the shards, through the wet bone-dust of what used to be my mother. Ash stuck to my skin. Washed down my arms in gray rivers. I tore off my coat, tried to cover what I could. But it was all being washed away.
“Mom... please... don’t leave me again. Don’t go. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry...” I kept digging. Hands raw, bleeding. Nails cracked. My dress was soaked and heavy with filth. I didn’t care.
His men looked away. Even they couldn’t bear it.
But Hakeem just stood there. Watching me fall apart. Watching me disappear into the grave with her.