Chapter 5: Shattered Ashes

CURTIS’ POV

“Look at what that bitch did!” Rosa barked, slapping the sheet of paper against the glass center table so hard that the sound echoed across the sitting room.

I had been seating right beside her, buried in deep, sad thoughts. But the sharp crack of paper against glass pulled me back.

I turned slowly.

She held the document in her hand like it was a weapon. The veins on her neck were standing out.

Her lips trembled from rage.

“It just came in this morning,” she continued, breathing heavily. “After everything we did for her. After everything you did for her.”

I stretched out my hand without saying a word.

She placed the paper in my palm.

The paternity test result.

For a moment, I didn’t look at it. My fingers felt stiff, like they didn’t belong to me. My eyes burned from nights without sleep, from grief I had not even processed.

I swallowed and forced myself to look down.

The words swam at first.

Probability of paternity: 0%.

I blinked.

Read it again.

0%.

My jaw tightened.

The room felt suddenly smaller. The air thicker. My chest heavy.

My son.

The child Tessa had carried for months. The child I had stood over in silence, my hands trembling, telling myself to be strong.

Not mine.

I felt something twist violently inside my chest.

“Tessa…” I muttered under my breath.

My mother paced in front of me like a wounded lioness. “I warned you. I warned you about that girl. But you refused to listen. You said she was different. You said she loved you.”

I didn’t answer her.

My eyes were still fixed on the paper.

I remembered Tessa crying in the hospital bed. The way she clutched my hand. The undeniable innocence in her eyes, trying to make me believe the bastard she lost was our son.

I didn’t know what hurt more.

The humiliation.

Or the fact that a part of me still wanted to believe her.

I turned away abruptly, my hand tightening around the result sheet. My knuckles went white. My throat felt dry, but the anger rising inside me was hot and alive.

‘Tessa, I never thought the child wasn’t even mine.’

The words echoed silently inside my head, heavy and bitter.

All those months.

All those plans.

All those times I had placed my palm on her stomach and imagined holding my son.

A fool.

That was what I had been.

Slowly, I jerked upright and flew the paper down towards the center table with force.

I turned immediately, adjusting my suit jacket, buttoning it with quick, angry movements.

“Curtis, where are you going?” My mom asked, staring up at me, startled by the sudden shift in my energy.

My jaw was set. I didn’t look at her.

“To settle the score.” I said without meeting her gaze.

**********

TESSA’S POV

The cemetery was quiet in that lonely way that made your heart feel exposed.

The sky was dull and grey, like it too was mourning. A light breeze carried the scent of damp earth and old flowers.

I stood before the small patch of freshly turned soil, holding the small black box in my hands.

It looked too small.

Too light.

Too unfair.

I knelt slowly, my knees pressing into the soft ground. My fingers trembled as I brushed the surface of the box, tracing it gently like I could feel him inside.

“My poor child,” I whispered.

My voice came out hoarse.

I had worn black from head to toe. Not because anyone told me to, but because I felt hollow inside. Like colour didn't belong to me anymore.

“I’m so sorry,” I continued softly, brushing the box again. “I failed to protect you.”

The tears came again.

They hadn't stopped since the day I lost him.

I thought grief had a limit. I thought after crying for days, the tears would dry up.

But they didn’t.

They kept coming, like punishment.

I closed my eyes for a moment, holding the box closer to my chest. The breeze lifted the edges of my scarf.

Then I felt it.

That presence.

Heavy.

I turned slightly. Curtis was walking towards me.

His steps were slow but deliberate. His face was hard. No trace of the man who once smiled at me across breakfast tables.

Behind him, Lauren followed.

Of course.

She stood a few steps back, her hands folded across her chest, her expression unreadable.

Curtis stopped in front of me and bent slightly so his face was level with mine.

“Tessa,” he said.

My name sounded foreign in his mouth.

“Who’s the father of this bastard?”

The words hit me like a slap before he even touched me.

I stared at him. For a second, I didn’t understand what he had said.

Then it registered.

Behind him, Lauren shifted her weight slightly, still watching.

“He’s not a bastard,” I snapped, my voice breaking but sharp as I rose slightly to face him properly. “He’s your son!”

Curtis turned his face away from me, nodding slowly. His teeth were gritted so tightly I could see the muscle in his jaw twitching.

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a folded paper.

“It’s clearly stated in black and white,” he said, thrusting it toward me. “Stop trying to deceive me!”

My heart skipped.

I collected the paper with shaking fingers.

As my eyes scanned the words, my vision blurred.

I couldn't believe what I was reading. There was no way that could be true.

“No…” I whispered.

“Tessa,” Lauren’s voice came smoothly from behind him. She tilted her head slightly, her arms still folded. There was a faint smile on her lips. “No matter how lonely and desperate you are, you shouldn’t have cheated on Curtis.”

Something inside me snapped.

“Lauren, shut up!” I shouted, turning sharply toward her. My voice cracked under the weight of tears.

“Enough!” Curtis roared.

I flinched violently.

“You cheated on me,” he continued, his eyes wide with fury, his teeth clenched. “But you’re still blaming Lauren?”

“Curtis,” I cried, my voice breaking completely now. “Why won’t you believe me? I’m your wife!”

“Shut up!”

His palm connected with left cheek in a desperate slap. The slap came fast.

Hot.

Explosive.

My head jerked to the side and before I could regain balance, my body hit the ground. The taste of iron filled my mouth.

For a second, everything rang.

“Listen to me,” he thundered above me. “You’re not worthy of being my wife.”

The words cut deeper than the slap.

Before I could fully process what was happening, he bent and snatched the box from my hands.

My heart stopped.

“No!”

I scrambled up, grabbing at his arm, my entire body shaking. “What are you doing?”

Fear clawed at my chest.

“Give it back!”

But he was stronger. Much stronger.

He stepped back, holding the box away from me.

“Okay,” he said calmly, almost casually. “Get on your knees and beg. Then I’ll return it to you.”

My mouth fell open.

“Do you despise me this much?” I asked, stunned.

“You’re not willing, right?” he said, lifting the box higher. He slowly turned it upside down.

My breath caught.

“Then I’ll scatter your son’s ashes!”

“No!” I screamed, stumbling closer, my hands stretched toward him helplessly. “I’ll kneel. I’ll kneel!”

My knees gave way weakly, collapsing onto the bare ground.

“Curtis, please spare my son,” I begged, my hands pressed together like I was praying. “Please spare him. Spare him. Spare him.”

The words tumbled out over and over again. My tears blurred everything.

“I beg you. Please.”

He started laughing. Lauren joined him.

The sound echoed in my ears like something wicked.

“I’ll return it to you now,” he said between laughter.

“Please. Please. I beg you!” I kept saying.

But instead, he opened the box.

My heart stopped beating.

He lifted it high above my head. And started pouring out the ashes on me.

At that moment, my eyebrows furrowed as I froze.