He Left Me for Dead, Now He Begs Me for Mercy

When I got home, it was already dark. The hallway lights were dim. I was halfway across the foyer when I saw him.

Before I could say a word… His palm cracked across my face so fast I didn’t have time to brace for it. My head whipped to the side, and my shoulder slammed into the doorframe. My vision went white for a second. I heard a dull ring in my ears.

But I didn’t let go of the urn.

I don’t know how. Instinct maybe. I just knew I had to protect it. That little ceramic thing held more of me than I had left.

“Are you insane?” Torren’s voice was loud enough to rattle the glass by the stairwell. “How dare you insult my parents like that?”

I stared at him. My mouth was still closed.

He kept going. “They told me everything. Said you spit in their tea. Said you threatened them. Threatened to kill them in their own home. What kind of sick bitch does that?”

Before I could even shake my head, his hand came down again. Another slap, harder than the first. My neck snapped slightly to the left. I tasted blood in my mouth. Still, no tears.

My face stung. My heart didn’t.

“Torren,” Ruby called out, like she was trying to sound worried. But I heard the syrup in her voice. “Please don’t. She’s not worth it. Just let her calm down, okay? She’s just... tired or something.”

He turned to her and softened like a switch flipped. “Babe, don’t waste your breath. She’s been like this since day one. Always making herself the victim. Always twisting things.”

“You’ve just been too kind to her,” he added, nodding like it was fact. “That’s why she thinks she can keep stepping out of line.”

Ruby pouted, curling into the wall like some fragile princess, her eyes flicking toward me as if I was dirt on her shoe.

Jude was sitting on the couch with his headphones still around his neck, one side slipping off. His music was still playing faintly. He didn’t pause it. He didn’t ask what was happening. He just smirked like this was some afternoon comedy show.

None of the maids moved. I saw them standing near the dining room door, whispering again.

“She’s still holding the urn…”

“She didn’t even fight back…”

“Poor thing… she’s just a ghost now.”

“I heard she went to the ocean alone. With the boy’s ashes.”

I didn’t react. I didn’t have the energy. Then Torren looked down at my arms. At the white urn I held it so carefully.

“What’s that?” he asked, like it was nothing. Like it was just another bag. Before I could take a step back, he grabbed it from me.

“No,” I said, too late.

He held it in one hand, looked at it with disgust. “Are you serious right now?” he asked. “You went out crying to strangers with this thing? What is this? Another one of your pathetic performances?”

He shook it. Lightly, but it was enough to make my stomach flip. My hands clenched at my sides.

“An urn? Who died this time?” he sneered. “Your pride?”

Behind him, Ruby gave a soft laugh and turned her face like she was trying to hide it. Jude chuckled, still watching like a casual viewer.

I stood there, blood dried on my lip, my face burning, but my voice came steady.

“Give that back!”

He raised it higher. “Why? Who is it supposed to be? Huh? You collecting ashes now?”

I stared right at him. My jaw locked. I didn’t blink.

“It’s Cleo,” I said.

Silence hit the room like someone cut the air with a knife.

Torren’s smirk dropped.

Ruby stopped smiling. Jude blinked once and looked away. Nobody spoke.

Torren’s eyes narrowed as he slowly looked back down at the urn. His grip loosened a little. But he didn’t say a word.

I just stood there. Empty. Broken. Waiting to see if he’d hand my son back to me, or if he’d shatter what was left of my world then the urn hit the floor before I could even move...

I heard it crack before I saw it. That sharp, sick sound of ceramic snapping into pieces. Then came the burst... like dust exploding out of a vacuum. Only it wasn’t dust. It was Cleo. My boy. What was left of him. Scattered across the tiles like he was never loved, never held, never mine.

I screamed.

It came from somewhere deep, somewhere I did not even know was still alive. I dropped to my knees. My hands started moving on their own, trying to gather what I could. Ash. Bone. Bits of the urn. All of it mixed together. My fingers trembled so badly they looked like they did not belong to me. My nails scraped the floor, dug into the sharp pieces. I could not feel the pain yet. Only the emptiness.

I heard him behind me. Torren. Breathing like nothing happened. Watching me like I was a mess he regretted stepping over.

“Stop screaming like someone killed you,” he said flatly. “You’re not the victim here!”

I could not even lift my head. I was still scooping the pieces. The tears blurred everything. But I felt the heat in my face. I felt something break. Again.

He kept talking. Loud and heartless.

“I got the hospital’s update this morning,” he said. “Cleo’s fine. Smiling in his bed. Sitting up. The doctor even sent photos.”

I looked down at my hands. Ash was under my nails, on my palms, in the cracks of the floor.

“You lied,” Torren said, closer now. “You really faked his death to get sympathy? You’re sicker than I thought.”

“H-he died,” I whispered. “I held him... I held him when he stopped breathing.”

But it was like talking to a wall that hated sound.

Ruby came around from behind him, all gentle and delicate like a wilted flower that had learned how to poison. She knelt beside Torren and put a hand on his arm, speaking sweet and low.

“Maybe she’s mad at me, Torren,” she said, pretending to choke back tears. “Maybe she hated me so much she wanted me to feel pain. Maybe that is why she said he was dead. Just to scared me.” She glanced at the ashes. Her lips tightened in a little fake shiver. “Maybe that’s me someday,” she whispered. “Dust on the floor. Forgotten. Disrespected.”

And then she started crying. Big, heavy sobs that looked more like theater than grief. She pressed her hand to her chest, leaned on the couch like her heart had collapsed. Jude was watching, quiet until she reached for him.