I left the hospital carrying my daughter’s ashes when my husband finally called from wherever he was with his mistress and coldly said, “The bill has been taken care of. Stop bothering me.” I didn’t argue with him. I didn’t allow him to hear my voice break. Instead, I pulled out the old phone my father had given me three years earlier and called the number stored inside. The man on the other end had been silently preparing a legal case powerful enough to bring my husband and his entire family crashing down.

"Nora! That is enough!" Brendan snapped, standing up so quickly his heavy chair scraped against the floorboards. "You will not accuse my staff or my business associates of wrongdoing in my home!"

Victoria chimed in, her voice dripping with venom. "You absolute psycho! How dare you speak to Samantha like that! She has done more for our family’s public image this year than you ever have!"

Nora didn't look at Victoria. Her eyes remained locked on Ximena, whose face was rapidly draining of color.

"You rejected the claim on Thursday at 3:14 P.M.," Nora said softly, reciting the exact timestamp from memory. "Chloe’s heart stopped at 6:40 P.M. on Friday."

Brendan let out a harsh, frustrated breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Nora, stop using Chloe as a bargaining chip! She is in the hospital getting care! We will figure out her bills once the quarterly audit is finished!"

Nora turned her gaze to Brendan. The depth of cold pity in her eyes made him step back slightly.

"She isn't in the hospital, Brendan," Nora said.

"Then where is she?" Brendan shouted. "Is she upstairs throwing a tantrum with you?"

"She is in a white porcelain jar sitting in the middle of the empty crib you put her in," Nora replied.

The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.

Samantha looked between Nora and Brendan, her eyes wide with shock. Victoria gasped, placing a manicured hand over her mouth.

Brendan stared at Nora, his mouth slightly open, his brain visibly struggling to process the sentence. "What... what did you just say?"

"Chloe died three days ago, Brendan," Nora said, her voice completely level, completely devoid of emotion. "When I called you from the hospital plaza, I was holding her ashes. And you told me to stop causing a scene and bring the child home."

Brendan’s face turned gray. "You're... you're lying. You're doing this to hurt me."

Before anyone else could speak, Ximena’s laptop issued a loud, repetitive alert tone. Then her phone started ringing. Then Brendan’s phone chimed with a frantic succession of high-priority email notifications.