Roxanne stepped closer, crying softly. “Isabella, please. Let my babies rest.”
The urn slipped from my hands.
Silence.
Then screaming.
“You useless monster!” my mother shrieked.
Before I could react, my father grabbed Ryle.
“Go get it!” he yelled.
He threw my son over the railing. I screamed his name. My body moved before my mind could catch up. I ran. I did not think. I did not breathe. I jumped.
The water was freezing. It swallowed me whole.
I saw Ryle for a second. His small body was sinking. His arms flailed.
"Mom!"
"Ryle!"
I kicked. I reached. My lungs burned. My arms felt weak. The waves pulled us apart.
“Send a boat!” David ordered. His voice cut clean through the wind. “Get both of them out.”
I was barely holding Ryle. My arms felt like they were tearing. Every wave dragged us down again. I kicked because I had to. Because if I stopped, he would sink.
Another voice yelled back, “Sir, Roxanne collapsed!”
I heard her scream my name. Weak. Fragile. Perfect.
David swore. Footsteps rushed. Someone shouted that the helicopter was ready, blades already roaring above us.
“Take her to the hospital now,” he said, fast and sharp. “She can’t lose consciousness out here.”