Returning home, I found Rodger already there.

He was sitting on the couch. When he saw the urn in my hands, his eyes flickered with unease.

Yet, in the next moment, he had regained his icy composure.

He didn't comfort or embrace me. He simply stood up and said lightly, "Nicole, Jacob is dead, and he cannot come back to life. But we must carry on. You have to find a way to move on."

He asked me to move on.

I lifted my gaze to him.

I remembered three years ago when Jacob had a sudden high fever at midnight, convulsing and twitching.

At that time, Rodger was in another city dealing with a complicated international negotiation worth billions.

In a panic, I called him and cried, "Jacob is gravely ill."

Without hesitation, he canceled the negotiation and flew back overnight.

He rushed into the hospital room and pulled me into his embrace. He said in a hoarse voice, "Don't be afraid. I'm back. Nothing is more important than you and Jacob."

The warmth of his embrace still haunted my memory, but the air felt bitterly cold now.

I forced a faint smile and replied in a low voice, "Alright. I'll try to find a way to move on."

Rodger assumed I had come to terms with things and visibly relaxed. The tension between his eyebrows eased a bit.

A few days later, Jolene moved into our home under the pretext that she needed company for her trauma.

Rodger didn't ask for my opinion.

But what difference would it make?

I no longer had the energy to question it.

He had often ranted about Jolene after he was drunk.

He condemned that she had left him without hesitation. He complained that she was brutal and heartless.

Now I realized that his "hatred" for Jolene was merely another form of lingering attachment.

One day, when I returned home and opened the door, I was stunned.

Jacob's room had been completely different.

His favorite dolls, Legos, and toy cars were all gone.

The starry wall mural I painted was covered by a giant white canvas.

In the center of the room stood an easel.

Jolene was sitting in front of it, humming as she mixed paints.

When she saw me, she wasn't surprised at all and even smiled. "Nicole, hi. Look! I tidied up the place a bit. Isn't it much neater now? Since it was just a spare room, I figured it would make a good art studio for me."

A surge of anger clouded my vision and blurred everything before me. "Who gave you permission to touch Jacob's things?" My voice trembled.

"I…" Jolene feigned innocence. "I saw those things were old and taking up space, so I helped you get rid of them."

"Bring them back to me." I forced out each word.

"They're all thrown away." Jolene spread her hands. "The garbage truck took them this morning."

"I said bring them back to me!" I screamed, lunging at her.

Rodger burst in at that moment.

He grabbed my arm and pushed me away. "Nicole, what's gotten into you?"

His shove sent me reeling, and my back slammed against the doorframe as I collapsed to the floor.

He didn't even glance at me. Instead, he anxiously checked on Jolene. "Are you alright? Did you get injured?"

"I'm fine, Rodger." Jolene immediately nestled into his embrace. She trembled slightly, and her voice was perfectly tinged with grievance. "I just wanted to tidy up the room and make a memorial painting for Jacob… I didn't expect such a strong reaction from her…"

As she spoke, she sneaked a provocative glance at me.

Did she want to make a memorial painting?

I propped up my weakened body and looked at the enormous white canvas.

On it were swirling shades of gray, like dense fog or the ashes of something burned out.

My gaze froze suddenly.

I stared fixedly at the palette beside the easel.

Among the paints, there was some gritty, bone-like grayish-white powder not fully mixed.

A chilling realization shot up my spine and seized my mind.

My eyes darted frantically around the room.

It finally landed on the nightstand where Jacob's urn should have been.

It was empty.

The small black velvet box that held my entire world was gone.

A jolt of horror struck me and split my sanity instantly.

I raised my head, and my eyes turned bloodshot as I locked onto Jolene. I asked in a trembling voice, "What did you use to paint this?"

Jolene peeked out from Rodger's arms as she smiled innocently.

She pointed at the gray painting. "Of course, I used Jacob's ash. Rodger said you wouldn't let go of that box, so you couldn't move on. So I thought I could turn him into art. So he'll always be here with us in another way. Look! The hues of his ash are hauntingly beautiful."

I finally couldn't hold back.

Like a trapped animal, I lunged at the painting, clawing at the viscous gray with my nails.

The paint and powder were smeared all over my hands and face.

"Nicole!" Rodger's enraged shout echoed as he rushed over and grabbed my wrist. "Look at yourself! Jolene painted this for Jacob out of kindness, and you've actually destroyed it!"

I was trapped by his grip and struggled in vain.

I looked at him, whom I had loved for five years, and cried out with a heart-wrenching scream, "She used Jacob's ashes to paint! Rodger, that's my son!"

Rodger's grip grew tighter, and his gaze turned colder. "Jolene uses Jacob's ashes to paint. It is just another form of remembrance! Jacob is gone!" He said, word by word, "Stop letting the past trap you and others!"

I collapsed onto the cold floor and stared at the ruined painting.

My heart, too, was being hollowed out bit by bit.

That night, I locked myself in my room.

At midnight, Jolene's screams pierced through the walls again. She was pretending to have nightmares again.

I heard Rodger's hurried footsteps and his gentle reassurances.

I lay alone in the empty master bedroom.

After an indeterminate time, I got out of bed. Driven by an inexplicable urge, I silently made my way to the guest room door.

The door was ajar, leaving a narrow gap.

I saw Jolene in a thin camisole dress, wrapping her arms around Rodger's waist from behind. "Rodger, I'm scared..." Her voice was soft and seductive, like a purr. "Stay with me tonight, won't you?"

Rodger's body tensed for a moment.

I wished he would push her away, just as he had done when a female colleague attempted to throw herself at him under the influence of alcohol years ago.

He had mercilessly pushed her away and said coldly, "Keep your distance. I'm married."

But this time, he didn't.

His body stiffened, and he kept silent for a few seconds.

Then he abruptly turned around and embraced Jolene fiercely. He kissed her with a wild intensity.

In the dim light, they were kissing. Their breathing grew heavier, with even faint, suppressed moans.

I stood outside the door and watched quietly.

I didn't burst in, nor did I cry out.

I simply raised my cold hand and silently closed the door completely, shutting out the scene and the sounds within.

I returned to my room and walked to the window. I gazed at the moonlight pouring over the bed.

With my heart completely numb, I didn't feel so much pain.

Rodger received a first-class merit award for his "outstanding performance" in the terrorist hostage crisis.

The government held a grand "Anti-Terrorism Commendation Ceremony" in his honor.

Jolene and I were asked to attend it because she was involved in it, and I was the "family of the victim."

At the banquet, Rodger and Jolene were surrounded by reporters and officials.

He wore a crisp uniform, and his epaulettes gleamed.

Jolene clung to his arm, dressed in a designer gown, with a triumphant smile.

The media's flashbulbs constantly flickered, lauding them as "partners who stood together in the face of fire and death."

I was seated in the most inconspicuous corner, unnoticed.

Rodger took the stage to deliver his speech.

Basked in the limelight, he framed the ruthless negotiation, the choice to sacrifice his wife and his son, as a "difficult game played for more people."

He said, "As a negotiation expert, I must insist that reason must always triumph over emotion. Every life is precious. The decision was painful, but I have no regrets."

The room erupted in applause.

Sitting in the corner, I watched the radiant man on stage and suddenly recalled when Jacob first learned to walk.

He was also surrounded by many people.

Rodger tried to make him laugh and lie on the floor, pretending to be a horse, regardless of his image.

He let Jacob ride on his back and grinned from ear to ear.

He lifted Jacob high and said, "Jacob, move forward boldly. I am always behind you and support you."

Now, he stood on his son's grave and won his own fame and accolades.

During the media interview, the microphone was handed to Jolene.

"Ms. Chapman, you have experienced this event. Do you have anything to say?"

Facing the camera, Jolene shed tears at the perfect time. She looked tragically beautiful. "First, I want to thank Rodger for giving me a second chance at life. I also feel sorry for Nicole for losing Jacob. She must be heartbroken. It's a pity... She might have been too scared at the time and didn't protect Jacob immediately, leading to the tragedy."

Her words distorted truths and made my stomach churn.

Overwhelmed by nausea, I rushed to the restroom.

Bent over the sink, I dryly heaved but couldn't bring anything up.

Jolene followed me in.

She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. She looked at my disheveled state with a sardonic smile.

She approached and whispered in a voice only she and I could hear, "You know what? Jacob died for me. It's probably the greatest value of his life. That was his honor."

As her words landed, I spun around and slapped her with all my might.

The sharp sound echoed.

Jolene didn't dodge. Instead, she threw herself back the force, landing with a theatrical flourish as the back of her head thudded against the wall.

She slid down and let out a cry of pain.

Rodger happened to walk in and witnessed the scene.

Jolene clutched her head and fell into his arms with tears welling up in her eyes. "Rodger... I just wanted to comfort Nicole, but she... she hit me..."

Rodger looked at me, and his eyes were filled with disappointment and anger.

He said coldly, "Nicole, where are your good manners? Why are you so rude? Jolene is also a victim. Jacob is gone, and she's sadder than you."

I was stunned and looked up at him. "You believe her words?"

"I only believe what I see." He interrupted me coldly. "Apologize to Jolene."

I looked at him and the woman in his arms, putting on a show. I bit my lip stubbornly.

I didn't apologize.

"Apologize to Jolene now!" Rodger's patience ran out, and his tone became stern. "Immediately. Right now!"

I still kept silent.

His gaze turned fierce. He suddenly leaned close and said in a lower voice, "Nicole, don't push me. Otherwise, you'll never see Jacob again."

The last bit of Jacob's ashes.

He knew that was my Achilles' heel.

Now, it had become his leverage to threaten me for the sake of Jolene.

My heart felt like it was riddled with sharp pangs, leaving it with countless holes.

Looking at Jolene's smug face, hidden in Rodger's embrace, I gritted my teeth and slowly bent down and bowed my head. I said, word by word, "I'm sorry."

On the way home, neither Rodger nor I spoke.

He suddenly slammed on the brakes and parked the car by the roadside.

"You didn't truly realize your mistake," he said coldly.

I remained silent.

"Get out! Reflect on your actions!" he shouted while opening the car door and pushing me out.

The black car sped away without a pause.

Soon, it rained heavily.

I walked alone on the empty road.

The rain was bone-chilling and blurred my vision.

Yet, my mind was clearer than ever.

From then on, there would be nothing left that could threaten me.