Chapter 3: Justice Denied

At that time, Natalie was completely stunned. She drifted through the days, half-awake, barely able to eat or sleep.

She didn’t even have the chance to ask why the fight happened. She just kept desperately asking one question: “Why didn’t you wait for me to come back before cremating him? Why didn’t you let me see my brother one last time?” Her voice would crack, but the answers were always cold, practical, dismissive.

“Wasn’t it for your own good? The weather’s so hot, and every day at the funeral home costs money. They only agreed to pay this much, and if you want more, it comes out of the compensation. Wouldn’t that just mean less money for you? The dead are gone, but the living have to go on, right? Ethan is gone, so who will your mother depend on? Isn’t it still you? With this money, isn’t life easier? And we got your mother’s consent. In this matter, she has more say than you, right?” The words bounced off her, empty and heartless, as if grief could be measured out in dollars and cents.

The only man in the family, Natalie’s husband, didn’t care at all. Natalie, who hadn’t even finished high school, certainly couldn’t out-argue the smooth-talking factory manager. She never learned the language of power, just the language of survival.

She could only hold the urn and the stack of cash, crying with her mother. The little living room filled with the sound of their weeping, the curtains drawn tight against prying eyes and the hot sun.

Maybe at this point, Ethan could only die with his injustice unresolved. The world didn’t care, not here, not for people like them.

What could these two frail women, one old and one young, possibly do? Neighbors sent casseroles, left awkward notes, but nobody dared to offer anything more than pity.

But no one expected that the seventy thousand dollars would bring a fatal turning point to the whole affair. Money, like blood, has a way of soaking into everything.