Part 1 – Carrying Her Home

I walked out of the hospital holding a small white urn against my chest when my husband finally answered one of my calls.

Brendan sounded irritated rather than worried, and before I could explain why I had been trying to reach him, he said the words I would remember for the rest of my life.

“Stop making a scene and bring the kid home,” Brendan snapped into the receiver.

“I already authorized the money for her treatment.”

For several seconds, I could not speak.

Our three year old daughter, Chloe, had died three days earlier after spending most of her short life fighting a severe congenital heart condition, yet her own father did not even know she was gone.

“Fine,” I whispered, keeping my voice entirely flat.

Brendan ended the call without waiting for another word.

Behind his voice, I had heard loud background music, glasses clinking, and Samantha Hayes laughing.

Brendan had been spending increasingly more time with her while I practically lived beside Chloe’s hospital bed, and I had stopped asking myself whether their relationship was really as innocent as he claimed.

I returned to the Fairchild family estate in Lake Forest with Chloe’s ashes tucked securely under my arm.

Brendan’s sister, Brenda, greeted me near the front entrance and immediately complained about how much disruption my daughter’s illness had brought into the house.

“What are you carrying?” Brenda asked, looking down her nose at the ceramic container.

“Your niece,” I replied, staring directly into her eyes.

Brenda frowned in deep annoyance.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Nora.”

“It is Chloe’s ashes,” I said quietly.