...

Beth protested immediately, "Absolutely not. Hank deserves a proper send-off. I'll throw a grand funeral for him so that everyone can pay their respects and say goodbye."

She clung to Hank's hand, her sobs echoing through the plaza.

But delaying the cremation would give Hank a chance to escape. I couldn't let that happen.

I racked my brain for a way to sway her when Evelyn Cook's call came through, questioning Laura about the hold-up.

Laura relayed the situation, and Evelyn unleashed a torrent of venom at Beth.

Beth finally caved, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

En route, her tears flowed unchecked. "Elena, touch his hand. It's still warm, like there's life in him yet."

I obliged, my fingers brushing his skin, and furrowed my brow in mock confusion. "It's cold already. Maybe it's just from you holding it so tightly?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Laura exhaling in relief.

The "star" secretary had been a fixture in our lives since I was a kid, but I'd never suspected the depths of her betrayal: birthing his son, now ten, and colluding to destroy us for their twisted happiness ever after.

The thought fueled a burning rage. I fantasized about unleashing it, making her pay in kind.

"Try patting him gently," I suggested. "I've heard that right after passing, the departed can still sense your words and touch. It's like a final connection."

Beth nodded through her haze of grief, her fingers tracing his face tenderly, and whispered endearments.

I eased her hand aside. "He might not feel that, Mom. You need to be a bit more insistent. Louder, firmer, so his spirit knows."

Beth, ever the gentle soul, tried, but her pats were light as feathers, her voice a soft murmur.

I couldn't bear the half-measures. Shoving her aside gently, I unleashed a barrage of sharp slaps across his face, each crack punctuated by my fabricated cries of despair.

It went on until Laura finally intervened, her tone edged with annoyance. "Miss Cook, that's too much. He'd be in pain."

I paused, feigning surprise. "Pain? All I wanted was for his soul to feel our love."

In my last life, after Beth's suicide, those debt hounds turned their sights on me. They stalked my campus, terrorized my friends, and blasted my "deadbeat" status across social media until I was a pariah.

School became impossible, and jobs evaporated, not even flipping burgers, as no one wanted the drama.

I scavenged the streets, digging through filth for recyclables.

Hotel dumpsters were my lifeline for scraps when hunger clawed too deep.

It was outside one such glitzy venue that I glimpsed Hank, alive and healthy.

Blinded by hope, I charged in, clung to him as salvation, and spilled my tales of woe.

He regarded me with icy detachment, like roadkill. "Heard your mom offed herself. Should thank her for paving the way for my real family to thrive."

The words detonated in my mind, but before I could demand answers, Laura's voice cut through. "A beggar crashing our celebration? Toss her out!"

Security complied, flinging me to the curb. My skull met concrete with a sickening thud, and oblivion claimed me.

Pain? This petty slapping was a mere whisper compared to the inferno I'd endured.

...

We pulled up to the crematorium, where Evelyn paced the entrance.

Her face twisted in impatience. "What took you so long?"

Laura shot us a pointed, exasperated glance at me and Beth.

Evelyn's glare zeroed in on me like a laser. "You useless brat. Trying to doom your father's soul to eternal limbo?"

"Ma'am, what's the scheduled time?" Laura asked.

"12:45 on the dot. Don't worry. I squared it away. They'll flag us when it's go-time," Evelyn replied.

Their so-called scheme was code for the rigged swap. Someone would push Hank in front, whisk him out back, and palm off phony ashes to Beth.

Laura didn't bother verifying the clock.

Evelyn eyed Hank's shrouded form with lackluster sorrow. She pivoted to unleashing a verbal assault on Beth and me.

She branded me a worthless brat and Beth a barren witch who couldn't produce an heir.

"It's your doing, you harpy! You jinxed my boy and left him childless," she cursed.

Beth wept silently, absorbing the barbs without retort. Her mind was lost in memories of stolen kisses and whispered promises, now ashes in the wind with her "departed" love.

I couldn't fault her innocence. She'd been cocooned in luxury, her heart pure and trusting. She'd aimed to wrap me in the same bubble until Hank's scheme shattered it all.

But it had, and I'd paid the price in blood and tears.

Evelyn's tirade droned on, mingled with Beth's stifled sobs.

Earlier, I'd looped in Rufus to tamper with the clocks here, advancing them just enough to throw off their plan.

"Time's up, folks," a crisp voice announced from the office.

They scrambled, wheeling Hank toward the chamber and sliding him into the maw of the furnace.

The technician flipped the switch, and flames erupted with a whoosh, hungry tongues licking at his form.

Beth let out a guttural cry and collapsed. The nanny caught her just in time to cushion the fall.

Evelyn spun, spat disdainfully on the floor, and ignored Beath's plight.

Minutes ticked by as the blaze roared. Laura and Evelyn shared a conspiratorial nod, slipping toward the rear exit to collect their living prize.

I opened my mouth to intervene when a gruff voice boomed from behind. "We agreed on 12:30. What's with the early bird special? The clock says we've got five minutes to go."