Jeremiah’s arm immediately went around her, shielding her from me. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Zera?!” he roared.
My heart stopped. He looked at me with disgust, as if I were the enemy, not the woman who shared his bed, not the mother of his dead daughter.
“You’re pathetic,” he growled. “Jealous because your best friend’s pregnant and you’re not. Bitter because she’s happy and you’re not. You’re using Annie’s death as an excuse to attack her.”
My lips parted, disbelief flooding me. “You think I’m jealous?” I whispered. “Of her?”
“Annie’s dead, Zera!” he snapped. “She’s gone! And you can’t keep blaming everyone else because you weren’t a good enough mother to protect her! Don’t use her urn to gain my damn sympathy. It’s just mere ashes now.”
That broke me.
My knees went weak. The air in the room seemed to vanish. “Don’t,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Don’t you dare put that on me. You—”
“How fucking dare you to blame me?!” I cried, louder this time, tears streaming down my face.
“Enough!” Jeremiah shouted, his voice echoing through the room like thunder.