Chapter 4

The police arrived incredibly fast.

As Mia was being dragged away in handcuffs, she was still screaming and cursing like a maniac.

"Julian! You will regret this! I flushed Stella's ashes down the drain years ago! She doesn't even have a grave! You will never, ever be able to lay flowers for her!"

Julian stood at the doorway, his body swaying weakly.

Her ashes... flushed down the drain?

Luna tugged at his coat, whispering, "Daddy, what are ashes?"

Julian knelt down, looking into his daughter's innocent eyes, his heart breaking into a million jagged pieces.

"It's... the last thing Mommy left behind for us."

"Then why did that auntie flush Mommy away?"

"Because she is a bad person." Julian pulled his daughter tightly into his arms, his voice cracking with heavy sobs. "I'm so sorry, Luna. Daddy is so sorry. I failed you... and I failed Mommy."

Luna raised her tiny hand and gently patted his back. "Mommy told me that if you make a mistake, you just have to say sorry. Since Daddy said sorry, Mommy will definitely forgive you."

No.

I will never forgive him.

Julian knew deep down that Stella would never, ever forgive him.

The way he held Luna was incredibly awkward and stiff.

Luna was three years old, but he had never once held her before.

When she was born, he was away on a business trip. By the time he returned, she was already a month old. He had only spared her a single glance, remarked on how small she was, and never touched her again.

Now, he held her so tightly, as if she would vanish the second he let go.

But unfortunately, the one who was meant to vanish had already gone three years ago.

That night, Luna ran a dangerously high fever.

Julian stayed by her bedside, constantly changing the wet towel on her forehead.

Luna cried out for her mommy in her sleep, and he held her tiny hand, repeating desperately that Daddy was here.

"Mommy... fire! The fire is so big!"

"Mommy can't get out!"

"Mommy, it hurts!"

Julian buried his face into his daughter's tiny hands, his tears soaking the bedsheets.

He remembered that night three years ago.

Mia had snuggled into his arms, crying, "Julian, Stella sent me a text saying she doesn't want to live anymore. I'm so scared. Please go check on her."

At that time, he was in the middle of negotiating a multi-million dollar merger.

"She's just throwing another tantrum," he had said impatiently. "Ignore her."

"But..."

"I said ignore her!"

Only much later did he find out that Stella had actually called him seventeen times that night.

He hadn't answered a single one.

The very last call was at 11:08 PM.

The call had connected, but no one spoke. There was only the sound of violent, agonizing coughing, and the terrifying crackle of roaring flames.

What had he said back then?

"Stella, are you seriously not done yet? If you want to die, go die somewhere far away. Stop bothering me."

And then, he hung up.

That was the last phone call she ever made to him.

Luna suddenly bolted awake, her eyes filled with absolute terror.

"Daddy... I dreamed of Mommy."

"What did you dream of, sweetie?"

"Mommy was in the fire. She kept calling your name." Luna’s tears spilled over. "She was screaming, 'Julian, save me!' But nobody came. Daddy, where were you?"

Julian opened his mouth, but his throat was completely paralyzed.

Luna stared at him. The confusion in her eyes slowly turned into disappointment, and then into a tragic, heartbreaking understanding that no three-year-old child should ever possess.

"Daddy didn't go to save Mommy, did you?"

Julian’s tears fell like rain.

"I'm sorry..."

Luna turned her body away, presenting her back to him, her tiny shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

She didn't say another word.

But Julian knew his daughter now understood everything.

I floated beside the bed, staring at Luna’s trembling back.

Those fragile, tiny shoulders looked exactly like the last image I had of her before I died.

I couldn't escape the fire, so I had forced her inside a heavy steel cabinet. The cabinet had small ventilation slits, and the fire couldn't reach inside.

I had whispered, "Luna, be a good girl. Close your eyes and count to a thousand. Mommy will come get you then."

She had actually closed her eyes and started counting, "One, two, three..."

I heard her count all the way to one hundred and thirty-seven before my world went completely silent.

It wasn't because she stopped counting. It was because my eardrums had been burned away.