He Faked His Death And I Came For Our Daughter’s Ashes Chapter 04

He Faked His Death And I Came For Our Daughter’s Ashes Chapter 04

Morning Light Memorial Park was on the outskirts of the city, not far from Hopeville Children’s Home, where Brandon and I had grown up.

When I arrived, Margaret Clark, the woman who ran the home, now in her seventies, hugged me with a warm smile. Then she looked behind me.

“Brandon didn’t come?”

I shook my head. “He didn’t even know Tessa died.”

Margaret opened her mouth, then closed it. After a few seconds of silence, she sighed. “You two… you used to be so good together.”

It was true. We had been.

When some guys dragged me into an alley, Brandon beat them until their mouths bled. He nearly lost an eye, and he still smiled at me in the police station, telling me everything was okay.

When older kids at the children’s home lied and said he was a fatherless bastard who stole things, trying to get him kicked out, I ran at them with a pair of scissors, trembling, but I stood in front of him.

Later, we both got into college, but there was only one scholarship.

He didn’t hesitate. His eyes shone as he looked at me. “Mandy, you have to go. You deserve a better life.”

It was Professor Weber who pulled strings and got Brandon into Milton State University.

That was when we met Celeste.

She was beautiful, well-spoken, and had that easy confidence that money and a good upbringing give you.

Even Brandon said, “She’s more sophisticated than most girls her age.”

I didn’t like hearing that.

What I liked even less was the way Celeste looked at Brandon.

You can’t hide feelings like that.

Once, she teased me to my face, half joking, half sincere, “If I’d met him first, Mandy, you wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

I didn’t think much of it at the time. Brandon had just proposed and taken me back to the children’s home to pass out candy.

He smiled and said that as long as he was around, I would always have someone to lean on.

Brandon had once gotten his head split open by a group of thugs and didn’t shed a single tear. But when Tessa was born, he wept like a baby.

He promised carefully, weighing each word, to give us the best life possible.

But that was all in the past.

We buried the urn. On the headstone, there was a photo of my daughter smiling, holding her floppy-eared bunny plush, two little dimples in her cheeks.

Margaret sighed.

“Aren’t you going to tell him? After all… he’s her father.”

“If he believed me, he would have asked. But he didn’t. So what is there to say?”

Sunlight fell on the cold headstone.

Margaret and I stood there for a while before I finally turned to leave.

Suddenly, my phone rang. An unknown number.

I picked up. It was Brandon.

Even without seeing his face, I could hear the panic in his voice.

“Where’s Tessa? I want to talk to her!”