When Love Turns to Ash

I looked into Waylon's bloodshot eyes and kept my voice calm. "Is there something you don't like about the agreement? I can walk away with nothing if that's what it takes to give Jenna what she wants."

He shoved me back, his voice tinged with anger. "Where was all this generosity when you plastered those pictures all over the internet? Where was it when you threatened to kill yourself and take everyone down with you?"

His eyes burned into mine. "Now, you want to play the selfless wife?"

My chest tightened, but I forced myself to stay calm. "You're right. I was insane back then, but I'm not anymore. I'm letting you go. Isn't that what you wanted?"

Waylon fell silent.

His chest rose and fell heavily, as though he were a trapped animal with nowhere left to turn.

Jenna began tearing up. "I'm sorry, Waylon. I never should've made that wish. Please don't fight because of me."

Before either of us could respond, she slapped herself across the face twice.

Waylon immediately caught her wrist.

"Hey, stop. This isn't your fault. I lost my temper." His voice softened at once. "I have a surprise waiting for you by the beach. Come on, let's go celebrate your birthday."

He took her hand and headed for the door.

As he passed me, he stopped. "Sydney, I don't want to fight with you. When I get back, we'll sit down and have a proper talk."

He left with Jenna, and the front door closed behind them.

I stood there for a long moment before picking up the birthday cake and dropping it into the trash. After that, I grabbed the paycheck I'd just cashed and drove to my parents' place.

Just as I expected, the door to their old apartment was locked.

I drew in a slow breath and knocked.

Nothing.

The apartment was deathly quiet. I swallowed the ache rising in my throat and forced my voice to remain steady. "Mom? Dad?"

Silence.

"It's been three years." My voice cracked despite my best efforts. "You haven't spoken to me in three years. Please, just talk to me."

Still nothing.

A tear fell onto the hallway floor, followed by another.

Three years ago, my parents disowned me publicly at my brother's funeral. Since that day, no matter how many times I came back, cried outside their door, or begged for forgiveness, they never opened it.

I crouched down and slid the envelope of cash beneath the door before walking away.

I didn't know where I was going. I just kept walking until the streets eventually gave way to the waterfront.

It was the same beach where my brother and I had spent entire summer afternoons as kids, chasing each other through the sand.

I pulled out my phone, figuring I'd take one picture and leave.

By chance, I glanced through the windows of an upscale restaurant across the street and froze.

Several familiar faces were sitting inside.

Waylon sat beside Jenna, who wore a ridiculous little birthday tiara. Her eyes were closed, and a smile played on her lips as she made a wish over the cake.

My parents sat across from her.

My mom was smiling—not the strained, broken smile I remembered, but a warm, genuine one—the kind she hadn't given me in years.

Without thinking, I moved closer.

Through the restaurant window, I watched my mom push a plate of truffle pasta toward Jenna. "Happy birthday, sweetheart. I ordered your favorite."

Jenna leaned affectionately against her shoulder. "Thanks, Carol."

Later, my dad slid an envelope across the table. "I'm too old to know what girls your age like anymore. Here is $10,000. Buy yourself something nice."

Jenna's face lit up. "Thanks, Charles! If I get another life after this one, I'm definitely reincarnating as your real daughter."

Waylon chuckled and tapped the tip of her nose. "Don't celebrate just yet. There's one more surprise."

He clapped his hands, and soft piano music began playing through the restaurant.

A moment later, someone stepped out from the back, carrying another birthday cake to the table.

At first, I saw only a silhouette.

As he moved into the light, the distant face slowly became clearer.

My eyes widened, and every drop of blood in my body seemed to freeze.

That was impossible.

Then, I heard his voice—a voice I had replayed in my head for the past three years, a voice that was supposed to belong to a dead man.

My brother smiled at Jenna. "Happy birthday, Jenna."