Then: “You’re not listening. You haven’t been listening for a long time. And now… I’ve got no other way to get through to you.” He turned to his men. Nodded once.
“Start digging.”
“No!” I ran, screaming, shoving at the guards. “Don’t touch her! Don’t you fucking dare touch her!” But Hakeem moved quicker. He grabbed me, yanked me back by the waist, spun me around and held my chin with one hand, steel-hard.
“You disobeyed me,” he growled. “You humiliated her. You mocked her pain. Now you’re gonna understand what loss actually feels like.”
I kicked. I struggled. My lungs burned from screaming. But no one stopped. No one cared. The ground cracked open in front of me. Shovels slammed into wet soil, flinging mud into the air as they dug past the stone markers and through the freshly packed earth.
Then I saw it.
My mother’s urn.
Black. Rain-slicked. Covered in dirt. Everything in me shattered.
“No! Please!” I dropped to my knees, throat raw. “That’s all I have left of her, Hakeem. Don’t do this. I’m begging you.”
He crouched beside the grave, staring at the urn like it was nothing but a paperweight. Then he spoke…quiet, even. Like this was business.
“The doctor gave me the report this morning.”