Chapter 3

I returned home clutching Jake's urn to my chest like the precious cargo it was—all that remained of my son. My feet felt leaden as I walked up the path to what once was our family home. The house looked the same, mockingly normal, as if it hadn't been emptied of the most important person in my world.

The sound hit me before I even opened the door—laughter. Bright, tinkling laughter and the clink of glasses. I froze, my hand on the doorknob, disbelief warring with a sudden, white-hot rage.

I pushed the door open.

There they were in our living room—Marcus and Victoria, champagne flutes raised high, toasting. Actually toasting. My husband's face was flushed with alcohol, his eyes bright with a joy I hadn't seen in months. Victoria was pressed against him, her red lips curved in a smile that didn't reach her cold eyes.

"To new beginnings," she was saying as I stepped into the room, Jake's urn cradled against me.

They both turned. Marcus's smile faltered for just a moment before settling into something neutral, distant. Victoria's smile only widened, her gaze dropping deliberately to the small ceramic container in my arms.

"You killed him," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "You both killed my son."

Marcus flinched, but Victoria laughed—a sound like breaking glass.

"Don't be so dramatic, Sarah," she said, taking a leisurely sip of champagne. "It was an unfortunate accident. These things happen."

"An accident?" My voice rose, shaking with fury. "You researched which medications would be harmful to humans. The doctors found it in his bloodwork—that specific veterinary formula. You knew exactly what you were doing!"

Victoria's eyes glittered with something dark and satisfied. She set down her glass and sauntered toward me, her movements catlike.

"Prove it," she whispered, close enough that I could smell her expensive perfume. Then, with a sudden movement, she knocked the urn from my hands.

Time slowed. I watched in horror as Jake's urn tumbled through the air, hitting the hardwood floor with a sickening crack. The lid popped off, and gray-white ashes—my baby, my Jake—scattered across the floor and into the open garden door, spilling onto the soil of the flower beds I'd once tended with such care.

"Oops," Victoria said, her voice dripping with false concern. "How clumsy of me."

A sound escaped me—part scream, part sob. I dropped to my knees, desperately trying to gather the ashes, to save what I could of Jake from the indignity.

Victoria stepped past me, out onto the garden patio. With deliberate slowness, she ground her heel into the ashes that had fallen onto the soil, twisting her foot back and forth.

"Stop it!" I screamed, lunging toward her. "Those are my son's ashes!"

Marcus caught me by the arm, his grip painfully tight. "That's enough, Sarah," he said, his voice cold. "You're being hysterical."

"Hysterical?" I wrenched against his hold. "She's desecrating our son's remains, and you're defending her?"

His face hardened. With a sudden, violent motion, he shoved me down onto my knees among the garden flowers. My hands sank into the soft soil—soil now mixed with Jake's ashes.

"Stay down until you can behave rationally," Marcus said, looming over me.

The familiar, sickly-sweet scent of pollen filled my nostrils. My throat began to close immediately, a reaction so severe the doctors had once warned it could be fatal without prompt treatment. Marcus knew this—had rushed me to the hospital himself the first time it happened, years ago.

"Marcus," I gasped, already feeling the telltale itching spreading across my skin. "My... allergies..."

Hives erupted across my arms and neck, angry red welts rising on my skin. My vision began to blur, my lungs fighting for air.

The last thing I saw before consciousness slipped away was Victoria's satisfied smile and Marcus's impassive face as he turned his back on me, leading his mistress back inside while I collapsed among the flowers, struggling for breath, surrounded by the scattered ashes of my son.