Noticing this, Martin's expression darkened. "Enough! It was just a wedding. I'll make it up to you, okay?"
Make it up?
I looked at my mother's urn in my hands.
How could he make it up? With his arrogance?
"Martin, let's break up."
I saw a flash of triumph in Emma's eyes.
Yes.
She had won. I didn't want Martin anymore.
She could have him.
"Sofia Smith, can't you be more mature?"
Martin shook his head in disappointment. "As the future Mrs. Green, can't you be a bit more forgiving? Don't you know how fragile people with depression are? They can easily give up on life."
"What's more important than a life?"
His words were so ironic coming from his mouth.
"Well, you're right."
I said, tightening my hold on my mother's urn. I stood up to leave, not interested in continuing the conversation.
Seeing me like this, Martin seemed flustered.
In his world, I had never dared to treat him like this.
But now, he had Emma by his side.
Emma, noticing how protective I was of the urn in my arms, quickly stepped in front of me, pointing at it.
"Martin was talking to you. What's in there that's so important?"
"It has nothing to do with you."
I brushed her hand away.
She wasn't worthy of pointing at my mother.
"Ah!"