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I held the baby’s urn, waiting at the courthouse entrance for an hour. Finally, Julian Hayes‘ black Maybach pulled up.
As he got out, Vivian Thorne followed, intimately linking her arm through his.
“Sorry, sister, Julian insisted on having afternoon tea with me, so we got a little delayed.” She smiled sweetly, her hand caressing her flat stomach.
I clutched the urn in my arms, saying nothing.
Julian frowned, looking at me. “You insist on getting divorced today?”
I nodded, almost without hesitation. “Yes.”
He sneered, striding into the courthouse. Vivian followed behind him, turning back to
give me a triumphant wink.
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The divorce agreement was simple: I would leave with nothing, not even child support.
The clerk, just doing her job, asked, “Have you settled the property division?”
“Yes, she wants nothing.” Julian tapped impatiently on the table.
The clerk glanced at me in surprise. I nodded. “Yes, all I want is my freedom.”
The moment the pen touched the paper, Julian suddenly pressed down on my hand. “Claire Reynolds, are you sure you have no other demands?”
I looked up at him. That face, which had once consumed my every thought, now felt utterly alien.
“I do,” I said softly, noticing his brief flicker of impatience. “Can I have my son’s ashes?”
He paused, a little incredulous. “That’s it?”
I nodded. Then I looked at the clerk. “Stamp it.”
The sound of the seal was faint, but I heard it clearly.
As I walked out of the courthouse, Vivian suddenly shrieked, “Oh, Julian, I forgot to tell you!” She pulled an envelope from her bag. “A few days ago, my friend took some photos of
sister at a hotel…”
Her hand trembled, and the photos scattered across the ground. I looked down, and my
blood ran cold.
The photos showed me, heavily pregnant, being intimate with a strange man in a hotel.
There were also photos of me getting cozy with several men, from all sorts of angles.
“These are fake!” I snapped my head up, trembling with rage. “Julian Hayes, you know me! I would never do something like this!”
He didn’t look at me, picking up the photos, his eyes growing colder. “Heh, no wonder you were in such a hurry to divorce. So you’ve found someone else?”
“These photos are photoshopped! Vivian Thorne is framing me!” I reached out to grab
13:35 Mon, 4 Aug
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them. “If you don’t believe me, I can find a professional agency to veri-”
Before I could finish, Vivian suddenly lunged and grabbed my hair. “Bitch! Cheating and
then accusing me of faking it?” My scalp screamed in pain as I was forced to look up, seeing no reaction from Julian.
“Julian, look.” Vivian suddenly ripped open my collar. “She even has bite marks from
some wild man on her collarbone!”
I froze. Those were bruises from the IV drip when I was hospitalized with a fever last
month.
“No, that’s not…”
I was about to explain, but Vivian violently shoved me. “Wow, sister, you really know how
to have a good time, don’t you?”
I stumbled backward, and the urn in my arms fell to the ground.
*Shatter!*
The wind caught the grey–white ashes, blowing them all over my face.
Time seemed to stand still. I knelt on the ground blankly, futilely trying to gather the
scattered ashes with my hands, large tears splashing onto the ground.
“Baby… baby…”
I called out, my voice trembling, but I could only watch helplessly as the wind blew away
the last bit of ash.
Julian Hayes stood motionless. When I looked up at him, I saw him staring intensely at the photos.
“Claire Reynolds,” he said coldly. “You’re truly disgusting.”
Vivian nestled against him, unable to control the smirk on her lips.
I ignored him, kneeling at the courthouse entrance, my hands covered in my son’s ashes.
Why
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Why… why wasn’t killing my son enough? Why wouldn’t they even leave me his ashes?
As I thought this, I suddenly looked up at Julian Hayes.
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