"Don't be ungrateful. This is your chance to come back. Address sent."
Sophia Pruitt.
That name sent a phantom ache through my dead hand.
Five years ago, she was the one Marcus would brave a blizzard to reach.
I was the one left behind.
I deleted the texts, pocketed my phone, and walked over to Frank.
"Frank, I need the day off."
His eyes bulged, spit flying.
"Day off? How many times this month? If you don't finish this car—"
"Today is my daughter's death anniversary."
He shut up. His gaze swept over my filthy uniform, and he waved his hand.
"Go. Don't be late tomorrow. I'm docking fifty from your attendance bonus."
I went to the locker room, stripped off the oil-stained coveralls, and changed into a denim jacket washed so many times it had faded white.
I rode my scooter west.
The wind cut across my face.
An hour later, I stopped in a stretch of wasteland.
This wasn't a proper cemetery—weeds choked everything, and jagged rocks jutted from the earth.
I stopped in front of an inconspicuous dirt mound tucked in the corner. No headstone.
I pulled a plastic bag from the bike basket. Inside: three pieces of chocolate and a few pages of sheet music, rain-soaked and yellowed. The chocolate had started to melt.
I set them in front of the mound and reached out to pull up the new weeds around it.
"Lily, Mom's here."
I sat on the gravelly ground and stroked the dirt with my crippled right hand.
"Still no money for a cake this year. Mom's useless."
The wind blew.
I tugged at the corner of my mouth and unfolded the sheet music.
"Mom will play piano for you, okay? There's no piano, but Mom remembers the score."
I lifted my hand and pressed down into empty air.
No piano sound—just the faint click of my finger joints moving.
I'd only played two measures when sharp pain shot through my right hand. My fingers curled up.
"Mom's hand hurts. I'll stop here for today."
I dropped my head onto my knees. My tears smashed into the dirt.
My phone rang.
I looked at the familiar-yet-unfamiliar number and answered.
"Alex Henson." Marcus's voice came through. "I'm giving you thirty minutes. Show up at Bluewater Villa. Otherwise, I'll tear down that auto repair shop and make sure your foreman can't work in Rongcheng for the rest of his life."
"You can try." My voice was hoarse.
"You can gamble." His voice was flat. "Gamble on whether I'm joking. Don't force me to get rough. You know I have that ability."
The call ended.