Now I stood outside the cremation building holding a small blue urn they gave me. It felt too light for something that contained my whole world. Gabriel loved blue. I held it close to my chest like I could still keep him warm.
“Let’s go home, baby,” I whispered.
The sun was bright, the air warm, but I felt like winter had settled inside my bones. Empty. Numb. Alone.
When I got back to the mansion with his ashes, the first thing I saw was Lena.
She was beside Vincenzo, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder as she leaned in and kissed his cheek.
“Vincenzo, thank you for staying with us last night,” she said softly. “Noel’s much better now… but what about Gabriel? Olivia called earlier and she sounded really—”
Vincenzo didn’t move away from her. If anything, he looked comfortable there.
“Olivia always dramatizes things to get attention,” he replied casually. “She exaggerates everything. Always has. She was never stable. Honestly, she was never a good mother. I probably spoiled Gabriel too much—he became weak.”
I felt my breath catch.
The urn almost slipped from my hands.
I thought I had run out of tears, but they came anyway—slow and silent.
If he wanted her, he could have her.
Then Vincenzo finally noticed me standing there. His hand dropped from Lena’s waist. His expression shifted slightly—guilt, maybe. Or annoyance.
“You should’ve told me you were coming back,” he said flatly. “I would’ve sent someone.”
He didn’t remember the night I begged him for help after being stranded near his private docks. I had called him terrified because men were following me. He told me he was busy. When I asked for guards, he said they weren’t drivers. That if I kept acting helpless, he’d finalize the divorce himself.
That night, I walked alone and nearly got dragged into a van. When I called him again shaking, he told me I was stupid for walking alone and asked what I expected.
But when Lena needed anything—he sent cars, guards… himself.
I held the urn tighter.
“It’s fine,” I said quietly.
He stared at me for a long moment. Something unreadable passed through his eyes.
Then he asked, almost absentmindedly—
“Did Gabriel recover?”
I held the bag on my shoulder so tightly my fingers started to lose feeling. Whatever was inside it felt heavier than anything physical—heavier than grief, heavier than blame, heavier than everything I had survived so far.
“Gabriel’s—”
The words never made it out.