The vase hit the floor and shattered into pieces, fragments scattering like a cruel farewell.
Stunned, I turned to find Jenna. She was already walking away, holding Carson tightly in her arms, never once looking back.
I heard Carson cried so hard he nearly passed out, and Jenna spared no expense in helping him. She ordered her assistant to urgently commission a new black-and-white memorial photo of Carson’s mother, this time, framed in glass and adorned with delicate diamond inlays.
To help her assistant save face, she even live-streamed the entire memorial through the company’s intranet. A few media reporters were invited as well, publishing flattering pieces that praised Carson as a symbol of filial devotion, declaring that such loyalty was rare among today’s younger generation.
Meanwhile, I crouched in silence, carefully gathering the shattered pieces of the blue-and-white porcelain vase. My mother’s final gift, now lying in fragments.
I had no idea if it could ever be restored, but I couldn’t stop myself from trying.
As I turned on my phone, a message from Carson lit up the screen.
[Bryce, so what if you come from a good family and were once Jenna’s fiancé?]