Chapter 4: Ashes, Blame, and What Remains

He leaned in close, his grip tight. I could feel his anger radiating off him.

His eyes were full of impatience, his face showing how unreasonable he thought I was.

He looked at me like I was a child, throwing a tantrum. I hated him for it.

I thought, he really loves her.

The truth was undeniable. It broke something inside me.

He loves her so much he can ignore my obvious weakness, loves her so much he stands against me without asking why.

I was invisible. My pain didn’t matter. Only Savannah did.

I bit him hard, but he still refused to let go of my mouth.

He winced, but didn’t loosen his grip. Stubborn as ever.

I stomped on his foot out of frustration, but he let me.

He barely reacted, eyes cold. I felt powerless.

I struggled with all my strength, but he held me tight.

I fought until my arms ached, until my breath came in ragged gasps. He didn’t let go.

It was only when I was exhausted and fainted from anger that he realized something was wrong.

He caught me as I slumped, panic flickering across his face. For a moment, he looked afraid.

Blinding white filled my vision. Carter sat by my bed, smoking one cigarette after another.

The room was hazy with smoke. He sat in the corner, eyes red, staring at nothing.

“You hate me that much.” Carter’s eyes were red, as if he’d been crying.

His voice was barely above a whisper. He looked at me like he didn’t recognize me anymore.

His gaze was fixed on my belly. “You’d even kill our child.”

The words landed like a slap. I looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

Back then, I was blinded by hatred, only wanting to stab him with the cruelest words.

I wanted to hurt him, to make him feel even a fraction of my pain.

A needle only hurts when it pierces your own skin, doesn’t it?

I thought I was punishing him, but really, I was destroying myself.

“Yes, Carter, I killed him to get back at you.”

My voice was flat, emotionless. I wanted him to hurt. I wanted him to bleed.

His voice trembled. “Why drag the child into our problems?”

His hands shook. He looked at me like he was seeing a stranger.

Why involve the child?

The question echoed, unanswered. I didn’t have a good reason. Not really.

I wanted to ask the same thing.

But I said, “If you and Savannah had cut things off, he wouldn’t have died.

“You killed him.

“You and Savannah killed him together.”

I spat the words out, each one sharp and bitter. I wanted them to hurt.

“Lillian…”

His voice cracked. He looked away, jaw clenched.

Carter cut me off sharply: “Don’t drag Savannah into this, she knows nothing.”

He was desperate, defensive. Always protecting her.

God knows how much I wanted to laugh when I heard that.

The irony was too much. Even now, she was blameless in his eyes.

Even now, he was still protecting her.

It didn’t matter what she’d done. He would always choose her.

I looked at him. “Carter, how can you be so clueless?

“Does Savannah not know her actions would hurt me, or does she not know she’s the other woman?”

I searched his face for understanding, for any sign that he got it. There was nothing.

Carter’s brows furrowed tighter. “Lillian, don’t be so aggressive. There’s nothing between me and Savannah.”

He said it like he believed it. Like he could lie his way out of anything.

I’m aggressive?

The word stung. I was the villain now. The crazy one.

I stared at this man who was so cold to me.

He was a stranger. The boy I loved was gone.

He was so unfamiliar.

I barely recognized him anymore. Or myself.

Really too unfamiliar.

The distance between us was unbridgeable. We were worlds apart.

I looked at him and sneered. “Carter, your hypocrisy makes me sick.

“You and Savannah both deserve to hurt. You both deserve it.”

My voice was cold, cutting. I wanted him to remember these words.

Carter shuddered, then grabbed my shoulders and suddenly laughed. “Lillian, do you know the consequences of what you’re doing?”

His laughter was hollow, brittle. There was no joy in it.

What consequences?

I didn’t care. I just wanted to see him bleed.

I just wanted to tear him and Savannah apart.

If I couldn’t have him, no one could. I was desperate, reckless.

I stared at him. “I, Lillian, can bear any consequence.”

My voice was steady, unwavering. I meant every word.

He was provoked, his face flushed, panting heavily.

We were both at our breaking point. There was no going back.

We were like two animals on the edge, glaring at each other.

Predators, circling, waiting for the other to make a move.

Both wishing to tear the other’s flesh apart.

The hatred was mutual, all-consuming.

Then he held me tightly, and in that moment, we almost seemed like lovers, clinging to each other in a twisted embrace.

It was desperate, violent, almost tender. Two broken people, holding on for dear life.

He whispered softly in my ear: “Lillian, you know what?

“I was going to take care of Savannah and then start over with you.”

His breath was hot against my skin. For a moment, I wanted to believe him.

As if thinking of something, he paused, then said cruelly, “But you’re not worthy.”

The words landed like a punch. I flinched, but didn’t pull away.

He spoke each word as if pouring all his hatred into them: “Don’t worry, I won’t divorce you.

“I want you to watch me and Savannah in love. I want you to know real pain as Mrs. Langley.”

His voice was cold, triumphant. He wanted me to suffer.

The room was silent. I seemed to see the seventeen-year-old Carter again, cautiously tugging my sleeve: “Lilly, do you still want me…”

The memory flickered, bittersweet. We were so young, so full of hope.

“Alright.”

My voice was barely more than a whisper. I let him go.

Alright then.

I surrendered. There was nothing left to fight for.

Carter, I want you—just don’t make me sad again.

It was a plea, silent and desperate. I knew he wouldn’t listen.

Grief and anger were like a blunt knife, hacking away at my heart.

Every breath hurt. Every heartbeat was a reminder of what I’d lost.

It hurt so much.

The pain was constant, relentless. I wondered if it would ever fade.

But I hugged him back. I heard myself say, very softly and quickly: “Then I wish you both a love stronger than steel, never to part in life or death.”

My words were a curse and a blessing, all at once. I hoped they haunted him.

Carter kept his word.

He always did. Even when it broke me.

That very night, he moved out of our home, bought a house in the suburbs, and built a love nest with Savannah.

He didn’t look back. I watched him pack his bags, listened to the door slam shut. The silence that followed was deafening.

Except for necessary occasions, I never saw Carter again.

He was a ghost, haunting the edges of my life. I caught glimpses of him in the news, at events, but never up close.

As for news about them, it all came from Monica, the girlfriend of Carter’s friend.

Monica was blunt, unfiltered. She called me when she felt like it, dropping little bombs of gossip into my lap.

Monica couldn’t understand the standoff between me and Carter. She thought I should have pretended not to know and married Carter first.

She said I was too proud, too stubborn. That I should’ve played the long game, kept my head down, waited for Savannah to fade away.

As for Savannah, Monica said, people like Carter usually forget women like her after a while.

She shrugged, lighting a cigarette. “He’ll get bored, Lil. They always do.”

By acting this way, I was just tying Carter and Savannah together.

She said I was giving them something to fight for. That I was making it easier for them to stay together.

I was handing Savannah the knife myself.

Her words stung, but I couldn’t argue. Maybe she was right.

I just replied with an indifferent “Mm.”

I didn’t have the energy to fight anymore. I let her words wash over me, numb.

Monica was right. Carter’s parents said the same thing after my miscarriage.

They called me reckless, dramatic. Said I’d ruined everything for myself.

They said I’d chosen the stupidest, most self-destructive way, wasting my reputation as a top student.

Mrs. Langley shook her head, disappointment etched into every line of her face. “You had such promise, Lillian. Such potential.”

But I’d seen the passionate, pure love of the seventeen-year-old Carter, so I couldn’t accept this kind of betrayal.

I clung to the memory of that boy, desperate to believe he still existed somewhere inside the man he’d become.

I just wanted to be stupid. I just wanted to smash myself to pieces.

If I couldn’t have happiness, I’d settle for destruction. At least then, I’d feel something.

I insisted on using the most painful, tragic way to show Carter my pain.

It was a performance, a spectacle. I wanted him to see, to understand, to hurt.

Carter was soft-hearted, and I wanted him to fall into pain with me, never to escape.

If I could drag him down, maybe I wouldn’t be alone in my suffering.

Only when he hurt would I be satisfied.

I told myself it was justice. But really, it was just revenge.

Just like Carter’s parents said when they disapproved: “Lillian, your family wasn’t happy. Kids from homes like that often have extreme personalities.

“We don’t want our son to get hurt.”

Their words echoed in my mind, prophetic and cruel. Maybe they were right.

A prophecy fulfilled.

I became exactly what they feared. Broken. Dangerous. Unlovable.

I jumped to take revenge on Carter.

It was my final act. My last, desperate attempt to make him feel something.

Very few people came to my funeral. Besides Carter and his parents, only Monica was there.

The service was short, somber. The sky was gray, rain threatening. Monica wore black, her lipstick a slash of red against the gloom.

Monica gently stroked my tombstone with her scarlet-painted nails, saying the same thing as Carter: “Idiot.”

She traced the letters of my name, shaking her head. There was no judgment in her voice—just sadness.

She bent down to place the wild daisies she was holding next to the stone and murmured, “What’s the use of dying? All you did was give your place to someone else.”

She arranged the flowers carefully, her movements slow and deliberate. Her words lingered in the damp air.

She dragged a large black trash bag over to Carter.

It rustled loudly, breaking the silence. Monica shot Carter a look, daring him to say something.

“Carter, burn the things inside for Jamie Langley, okay? The labels are there.”

Her voice was matter-of-fact, businesslike. She handed him a lighter, her eyes never leaving his face.

Suddenly, she changed her tone: “Of course, if you don’t want to, just throw them away.

“Anyway, I don’t have time to burn them for this foolish woman.”

She shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. But I could see the sadness in her eyes.

Her face wore a cynical smile, making it impossible to tell if she was joking.

Monica was always hard to read. She wore her armor well.

The restless wind brushed her beautiful cheek. She casually spread her hands:

She looked up at the sky, hair whipping around her face. For a moment, she looked almost vulnerable.

“Oh, right, this is for you. Lillian said to put it in her grave—I almost forgot.”

She reached into her purse and pulled out a small white bottle, holding it out to Carter.

It was a plain white bone china bottle, containing some unknown powder.

The bottle was delicate, almost fragile. Carter took it, turning it over in his hands.

Monica’s tone was light and mocking: “Mm, you’d better be careful. Inside is little Jamie, don’t drop it.

“If you drop it, it’s gone.”

She winked, but there was no humor in her eyes. Carter’s grip tightened on the bottle.

With Monica’s words, Carter looked up, the broken sunlight crossing his face.

His expression was unreadable. For a moment, he looked older, tired.

He held the little bottle, his eyes dim. “You knew all along Lillian would do this?”

His voice was quiet, almost pleading. He searched Monica’s face for answers.

Monica neither admitted nor denied it.

She just smiled, lips pressed tight. There was a sadness there, hidden beneath the bravado.

Carter asked, “Why didn’t you stop her?”

He sounded desperate, angry. He needed someone to blame.

Monica’s beautiful eyes finally showed a hint of a smile. She crossed her arms and clicked her high heels as she walked away.

Her steps were confident, defiant. She didn’t look back.

“How was I supposed to know this foolish woman would really die? I’m so busy—shopping, fragrance parties, I never stop.

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, her tone light, almost flippant.

She shrugged indifferently. “Are you blaming me? No way, Mr. Langley, I never expected it. I didn’t think you actually cared about her.”

Her words hung in the air, sharp and final. Carter stood alone, the bottle cold in his hand, the wind tugging at his coat.