Olivia’s POV
From the other end of the call, a voice was still speaking—faint, urgent, trying to explain something.
But my father didn’t listen.
Not a single word.
Rage flooded his face. His hand tightened around the phone, and before anyone could react, he hurled it to the ground. The screen shattered with a sharp c***k, fragments skidding across the stone path.
He strode toward my urn.
I felt it before it happened—an instinctive dread, a tightening in my chest.
His leg swung forward.
With a violent kick, the urn toppled over.
It hit the ground with a dull thud, the lid snapping loose. Pale gray ashes spilled out, scattering across the earth, carried by the wind, dissolving into the soil and gravel.
My remains.
Reduced to nothing.
My mother gasped, covering her mouth, but she
