I fell hard, my forehead slamming against the stone pavement. Blood gushed down my face, but I didn’t feel a thing.
My voice was hoarse. “What are you doing?! That’s my child! Why are you burning him here?! Even if you’re cremating him, it should be at a crematorium!”
“He’s already dead. What’s the point of keeping him around?” Cortland’s tone was cold, as if he were talking about a broken toy. “He’s just an eyesore.”
“That’s enough, Saylor. Stop making a scene.”
Ysabella, his mother, stepped forward, her face wearing a mask of fake kindness. She’d never truly liked me—a daughter-in-law who was strong, independent, and unwilling to play the docile housewife.
Her ideal daughter-in-law was one who stayed home, bore children, and served her son. Not someone like me, a businesswoman who fought her way to the top.
Before, she kept up appearances because of my wealth. But now, her true self showed through.
“Dear, we’re doing this for your own good. We invited a spiritual master. He said the child needs to be cremated and blessed by family, or his soul won’t find peace and be reborn into a better life.”