“Come on, sweetheart,” she said weakly, grabbing Noel’s hand. “Let’s go. Mommy can’t breathe around this… this darkness. I don’t want you seeing things like this.”
Noel frowned but didn’t resist. He just followed—trained, obedient.
Then Vincenzo wrapped his arm around Lena’s waist like she was the only thing steady in the room.
“Don’t waste your tears on her,” he murmured into her hair. “You’re the only one who matters. Let’s leave her here with her mess.”
I was still on the floor, gathering what remained of my son with shaking hands. Ash smeared across my skin, streaking the tiles like something trying to cling to life.
Then Noel suddenly broke away.
He ran straight toward me.
His shoe came down hard.
Right on the ashes.
“Witch!” he shouted. “You made my mom cry!”
He stomped again.
And again.
The remains of my son scattered further across the floor—like even what was left of him wasn’t allowed to stay whole.
“No… no… no!”
The words tore out of me as he violently kicked what was left of the urn. The broken pieces scattered across the marble, flying in different directions before smashing against the wall. Shards of ceramic rained down like falling glass.
I couldn’t move.