My Fiancée Vacuumed Up and Threw Away My Dead Mother’s Ashes from the Urn

I treasured my mother’s ashes for three years after her death. Her urn was that one sacred thing I asked my fiancée to never touch. But in her rush to make our home spotless, my fiancée vacuumed up the ashes, threw them out with the trash, and hid the truth from me.

Does the death of a loved one mean they’re gone from us forever? My mother Rosemary was my sun, moon, stars, and everything in between. After her death, I still felt her presence through the urn that held her ashes. Until the day my fiancée decided to “clean” our apartment, and my world shattered all over again.

An older lady's framed photo, an urn, and glowing candles on a table | Source: Midjourney

An older lady’s framed photo, an urn, and glowing candles on a table | Source: Midjourney

The evening air was thick with memories as I stood in our living room, touching the silver frame that held Mom’s favorite photo.

She wore her favorite white dress and smiled at the camera, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

It had been five days since the accident that killed Mom, but some days, the pain felt as fresh as the morning I got the call from the hospital.

A man holding an older woman's framed photo | Source: Midjourney

A man holding an older woman’s framed photo | Source: Midjourney

“Hey, Christian,” my sister Florence called from the couch. She had moved in after Mom passed, and her presence helped fill the echoing emptiness of my heart.

“Remember how Mom would always say grace before dinner, even if we were just having cereal?”

I smiled, running my finger along the frame. “Yeah, and remember how she’d catch us sneaking cookies before dinner? She’d try to look stern but end up laughing instead.”

A sad woman looking at someone | Source: Midjourney

A sad woman looking at someone | Source: Midjourney

“God, the way she’d put her hands on her hips,” Florence said, wiping her eyes. “Like she was trying so hard to be mad at us.”

“‘Lord give me strength!’” we said in unison, mimicking Mom’s exasperated tone, and for a moment, it felt like she was there with us.

The front door opened, and my girlfriend Kiara walked in, her footsteps hesitant. She’d been like that since Mom died, always hovering at the edges of our grief, never quite knowing how to step in.

A woman in the hallway | Source: Midjourney

A woman in the hallway | Source: Midjourney

“I picked up dinner,” she said, holding up a takeout bag. “Chinese. From that place you like, Christian.”

“Thanks,” I replied coldly. Something had changed between us since Mom’s death. It was like a wall had grown where there used to be an open door.

Two weeks after the funeral, I came home early from work to find Kiara packing a suitcase. The sight stopped me cold in the doorway.

“Where are you going?” I asked, though the answer was written in every careful fold of clothing she placed in the bag.

A woman packing her clothes | Source: Pexels

A woman packing her clothes | Source: Pexels

She didn’t look up. “I need some time, Christian. This… all of this… it’s too much.”

“Too much? My mother died, Kiara. What did you expect?”

“I don’t know how to help you!” She finally met my eyes, her own filled with tears. “You cry every night. You spend hours staring at her pictures. You and Florence keep talking about memories I wasn’t part of, and I feel like an outsider in my own home.”

“So your solution is to leave? When I need you most?”

A sad man looking at someone | Source: Midjourney

A sad man looking at someone | Source: Midjourney

“Please try to understand—”

“Understand what? That my girlfriend of four years can’t handle a few weeks of grief? That you’d rather run away than support me?”

“That’s not fair!” Kiara’s hands trembled as she folded another shirt. “I’m trying my best! But it looks like you’ll take forever to move on, Chris.”

“Your best?” I grabbed the shirt from her hands. “Your best is packing your bags while I’m at work? Not even having the decency to tell me to my face that you care more about yourself than me… and my grief?”

A shocked woman | Source: Midjourney

A shocked woman | Source: Midjourney

“I was going to call you—”

“Oh, that makes it so much better!” I threw the shirt across the room. “What happened to ‘I’ll always be there for you’? What happened to ‘we’re in this together’?”

“I’m not equipped for this, Christian. I can’t be what you need right now.”

“I never asked you to be anything but present, Kiara. Just to sit with me, to hold my hand, to let me know I’m not alone. But I guess that’s too much to ask, isn’t it?”

A distressed man with a woman | Source: Pexels

A distressed man with a woman | Source: Pexels

She picked up her suitcase, her shoulders shaking. “I’m staying with my friend Shannon for a while. I’ll text you. I just… I need space to figure this out.”

“Figure what out? How to be a decent human being? Go ahead, run away. It’s what you’re good at, isn’t it?”

Kiara left without saying anything.

Florence moved in the next day, bringing with her the comfort of shared grief and understanding. We spent evenings looking through old photo albums, crying together, and laughing at memories of Mom’s terrible dancing and amazing cooking.

A man watching a woman leave with her bag | Source: Pexels

A man watching a woman leave with her bag | Source: Pexels

“She would have hated this,” Florence said one night, gesturing at the takeout containers littering our coffee table. “Remember how she used to say fast food was ‘the devil’s cooking’?”

“But she’d still take us to McDonald’s after doctor appointments,” I added, smiling at the memory. “Said it was ‘medicinal French fries.’”

“Chris, did Kiara call?”

“Nope! Just texted. You know, I stayed with her through her father’s illness, her bad days, her everything. And yet here I am, alone in my own grief. I needed her, but maybe she just didn’t love me enough.”

An upset an sitting on the couch | Source: Pexels

An upset an sitting on the couch | Source: Pexels

The only way Kiara contacted me was through texts like, “Hope you’re okay.”

I typed and deleted, “I needed you, Kiara.” But sent, “I’m managing. Thanks.”

A month after Kiara left, she asked to meet at our usual coffee shop. She sat across from me, looking smaller somehow, her hands wrapped around an untouched latte.

“Shannon’s boyfriend confronted me yesterday,” she hesitantly began. “Called me selfish and cold-hearted. Said I abandoned you when you needed me most.”

A woman in a coffee shop | Source: Unsplash

A woman in a coffee shop | Source: Unsplash

I stayed silent, watching her struggle with the words.

“He was right,” Kiara continued. “I’ve started therapy, Christian. I want to be better. I want to learn how to be there for you, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”

“How do I know you won’t leave again?” I asked, the fear raw in my voice.

“Because I love you,” she replied, reaching across the table. “And I’m learning that love means staying, even when it hurts. Even when you don’t know what to say or do. I’m sorry for being a jerk.”

A woman holding a man's hand | Source: Unsplash

A woman holding a man’s hand | Source: Unsplash

Life settled into a new pattern after that. Kiara moved back in, and three years later, we started planning our wedding.

Mom’s urn remained on its special table in the corner, surrounded by her photos and her plastic rosary — the one she’d carried everywhere, even to the grocery store.

“We should divide the ashes,” I suggested to Florence one evening. “You could have half.”

She shook her head, touching the urn gently. “No, let’s keep them together. It’s what Mom would have wanted.”

An urn on a shelf | Source: Midjourney

An urn on a shelf | Source: Midjourney

I nodded, tears welling up in my eyes as I thought about Mom and how much I’d miss her at my wedding. I’d already decided: the urn with her ashes would have a special spot in the front row of the church. It would make me feel like Mom was there, blessing me as I took this important step in my life.

The wedding planning consumed our days. And Kiara seemed different. She was more present and understanding.

She held me when the grief hit unexpectedly, sat through stories about Mom without fidgeting, and even asked questions about her sometimes.

Grayscale shot of bridal accessories | Source: Pexels

Grayscale shot of bridal accessories | Source: Pexels

Then, the call from Florence came on a Tuesday evening, just three days before my wedding. “Hey, Chris? I was wondering if I could have Mom’s rosary. The plastic one? I found a photo of her holding it, and—”

“Of course,” I said, moving toward the urn. “Let me just—”

The words died in my throat as I opened it. Inside, where Mom’s ashes should have been, sat a Ziploc bag filled with… SAND? The rosary lay beside it, exactly where I’d left it three years ago.

The front door opened, and Kiara walked in carrying shopping bags. One look at my face, and hers drained of color.

“What did you do to Mom’s ashes?” I asked.

A man pointing a finger | Source: Pexels

A man pointing a finger | Source: Pexels

She set the bags down slowly, her hands trembling. “Honey, it’s not what you think. I didn’t do it intentionally—”

“What did you do, Kiara?”

A long silence followed. Then she confessed, “I was cleaning while you were at work a few months ago. The apartment needed a deep clean, and—”

“And what?”

“I picked up the urn to clean the table and accidentally dropped it. It shattered. I quickly assembled the ashes into a bag. But the bag tore. The ashes spilled onto the carpet. I… I panicked. I vacuumed them up and threw the ashes into the trash outside.”

My knees buckled. “You vacuumed my mother’s ashes and threw them in the trash?”

A woman using a vacuum cleaner | Source: Pexels

A woman using a vacuum cleaner | Source: Pexels

“I didn’t know what to do. I got some sand from the park nearby. Found a replica of the same urn in the antique shop downtown. I filled it up with the sand. I… I thought you’d never open it again.”

“Never open it? You thought I’d never want to see my mother’s ashes again?”

“I was trying to clean the house. It was just an accident.”

“Clean?” I slammed my hand against the wall. “Those weren’t dust bunnies under the couch, Kiara! That was my mother! The only physical piece of her I had left!”

A shocked man | Source: Midjourney

A shocked man | Source: Midjourney

“I’m sorry, Christian!” she sobbed. “I wasn’t thinking!”

“Clearly!” I picked up the urn, cradling it to my chest. “You weren’t thinking when you decided to ‘clean’ around the one thing I specifically asked you never to touch. You weren’t thinking when you vacuumed up my mother’s remains like they were dirt. And you certainly weren’t thinking when you replaced them with sand and lied to my face for months!”

“Please, Christian, we can fix this—”

“Fix this? How exactly do you propose we fix this, Kiara? Should we go dumpster diving? Should we sift through garbage bags looking for my mother’s ashes?”

An emotional, teary-eyed woman | Source: Midjourney

An emotional, teary-eyed woman | Source: Midjourney

“I’ll do anything—”

“Did you even try, Kiara? Did you even attempt to salvage anything? Or did you just panic and run to the park for sand, like you always run away when things get hard?”

Her silence filled the room like poison.

“That’s what I thought.” I started gathering Mom’s photos from the table before dumping the sand from the urn. “You know what the worst part is? I actually believed you’d changed. I thought all that therapy and all those promises meant something. But you’re still the same person who left me when my mother died. You’re still running from the hard stuff.”

Close-up shot of an angry man yelling at a woman | Source: Pexels

Close-up shot of an angry man yelling at a woman | Source: Pexels

“Our wedding’s in three days. Please… I’m sorry. Don’t leave me. Where are you going, Christian?”

“Away from you!” I grabbed my keys and things. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

Before stepping out, I looked back, hoping stupidly for a sign of regret. Anything to show she understood what she’d done.

But Kiara just stared at the floor, her face unreadable, and already distant. My chest tightened, and the last bit of hope drained out of me. Without another word, I turned and left, the empty urn heavy in my hands.

A man walking away with a suitcase | Source: Pexels

A man walking away with a suitcase | Source: Pexels

The hotel room I checked in felt sterile and cold. I sat on the edge of the bed, Mom’s photos spread around me. My phone buzzed continuously with messages from Kiara, but I couldn’t bring myself to read them.

How would I tell Florence? How could I explain that the last piece of our mother was likely buried in a landfill or blown away like dust because my fiancée treated her remains like dirt?

As dawn broke, I stared at the urn one last time, realizing I was left with only emptiness and betrayal.

A distressed man | Source: Pexels

A distressed man | Source: Pexels

Things would never be the same, and I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to forgive my fiancée. Maybe I didn’t want to. Maybe I never could. But deep down, in a corner of my heart, I hoped my mother would forgive me.

I took the rosary, feeling the familiar smooth plastic under my fingers.

“The night before your accident, you made Florence and me promise to keep it safe, Mom. Said it would help us find our way when we felt lost,” I whispered, tears brimming in my eyes.

“Maybe that’s why you wanted us to have it. Because you knew that someday, we’d need something more than your ashes to hold onto.”

A man holding a rosary | Source: Pixabay

A man holding a rosary | Source: Pixabay

I clutched the rosary tighter, remembering Mom’s words, “Love isn’t in the things we keep, dear. It’s in the memories we make and the forgiveness we offer.”

I don’t know if I can forgive Kiara. Every time I close my eyes, I see Mom’s ashes being sucked away into nothing. How do you forgive something like that?

I stepped out onto the seashore nearby. The city lights blurred through my tears as I clutched the empty urn and rosary to my chest. A gentle breeze stirred, reminding me of how Mom used to say the wind carried whispers from heaven.

An emotional man's eyes | Source: Unsplash

An emotional man’s eyes | Source: Unsplash

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said, looking up at the sky. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect your ashes. I had one job — to keep you safe. But I failed. But I want you to know… wherever you are… that you’re still here with me. In every breath I take, in every memory I hold, and in every prayer these beads have witnessed. I love you, Mom. I’ll love you until my last breath and beyond that. Please forgive me.”

The wind seemed to wrap around me like one of her warm embraces, and for a moment, I could almost hear her whisper, “There’s nothing to forgive, dear. Nothing at all. Love you too.”

Silhouette of a man standing on the seashore | Source: Pexels

Silhouette of a man standing on the seashore | Source: Pexels

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.

Woman’s One Day Away Becomes a Mother’s Worst Fear After a Call from School — Story of the Day

Mary juggled everything at home while her husband, George, stayed hands-off. Fed up, she decided to take a day for herself, leaving their daughter in his care. But as she relaxed by the ocean, her phone lit up with missed calls from the school. Now, fear set in—what happened while she was away?

Mary stood in the kitchen, moving frantically as she tried to make breakfast. She glanced at the clock and groaned. She had overslept again. Meanwhile, George was still snoring loudly upstairs.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

She flipped the toast out of the toaster, only to see that it was burnt. “Ugh!” she muttered, tossing it aside. Without slowing down, she cracked eggs into the pan, but in her hurry, they burned just like the toast.

Suddenly, her alarm blared again, making her jump. “Oh, come on!” she cried, and in the confusion, she knocked over her cup of coffee.

The hot liquid splashed onto her arm, stinging her skin. “Damn it!” she yelped, grabbing a towel to wipe off the mess.

With no time to waste, she rushed to Missy’s room. She sat on the edge of the bed, gently shaking her daughter awake. “Missy, honey, it’s time to get up,” she said softly. Missy groaned, rolling over and pulling the blanket over her head.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Mary lifted the still half-asleep Missy and carried her to the bathroom. As she helped Missy wash her face and brush her teeth, she glanced at herself in the mirror. Her hair was wild, her pajamas were wrinkled, and a big coffee stain covered her shirt.

She carried Missy down the hall, heading toward the bedroom. She pushed the door open with her foot and saw George sprawled out on the bed, snoring softly.

“George, I’m running late. Missy’s going to be late for school. Can you help me, please?” Her voice was almost pleading.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

George grunted and rolled to his side, burying his face in the pillow. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled.

Mary sighed and hurried back downstairs, Missy clinging to her. She set Missy down at the table, grabbed a box of cereal, and poured it into a bowl, adding milk.

“I don’t want this!” Missy whined, pushing the bowl away.

Mary took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “What do you want, sweetheart?”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“Pancakes!”

Mary glanced at the time. She was almost out of it. “George!” she shouted toward the stairs. “I really need your help! Get Missy dressed!”

Silence. Not a single sound came from George.

Gritting her teeth, Mary grabbed the pancake mix and began braiding Missy’s hair as the batter sizzled in the pan.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

George finally strolled into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. His gaze landed on the stove. “Oh! Pancakes!” he said with a smile, sitting at the table. Without a care in the world, he grabbed a fork and began eating.

Mary glanced at him, her hands busy packing Missy’s lunch. Her shoulders ached from rushing around all morning, but she kept quiet.

“Did you forget to grab my morning paper?” George asked between bites.

Something inside Mary snapped. The words hit her like a slap. “Your paper?!” she yelled. “Why don’t you get it yourself? I’ve been running around like a maniac this morning getting Missy ready for school! I asked you to help! You didn’t even try!”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

George blinked, looking confused. “But I work, and you’re a stay-at-home mom…”

Mary cut him off. “You’re on vacation!” she screamed. “You know what? I’ve had enough! I’m taking the day off. You’re dropping Missy off and picking her up from school. You’re watching her all day. I need a break!”

George scratched his head, frowning. “I thought she still went to kindergarten.”

“Aaagh!” Mary shouted, storming out of the kitchen. She raced upstairs to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind her.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Mary stood in the bathroom, listening to the faint sound of George and Missy leaving. The front door clicked shut, and for a moment, there was silence.

She let out a long breath. Slowly, she turned on the shower, letting the hot water wash over her. It felt good, soothing her frayed nerves.

Afterward, she got dressed in comfortable clothes, grabbed a small bag, and packed a few essentials—her wallet, a book, and some snacks.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

She walked out of the house, locking the door behind her. Climbing into the car, she started the engine and drove toward the ocean, craving a peaceful escape.

Mary stretched out on the warm sand, feeling the sun on her skin. The sound of the waves calmed her, washing away the morning’s stress. She swam in the cool water, floated on her back, and felt a rare sense of peace. For once, she left her phone buried in her bag.

After a while, she sat up and reached for her phone, thinking it was time to check in. As she turned on the screen, her heart skipped a beat. There were over ten missed calls from the school. Something was wrong.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Mary’s hands shook as she dialed the school’s number. When someone finally answered, she could barely keep her voice steady.

“Hello? You called? Is something wrong?” Mary asked, her voice trembling.

“Yes, Mrs. Johnson,” replied an elderly woman on the other end. “Missy has gone missing. She went outside during recess and didn’t come back.”

Mary’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean? How could she not return?” she almost shouted, her fear rising.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“We tried reaching you and your husband, but we couldn’t get through.”

Mary felt like the world was spinning. “How could you let this happen?!” she screamed.

“Please, Mrs. Johnson, calm down,” the woman said gently. “We’re doing everything we can to find her.”

“How can you say that?!” Mary yelled. “You don’t know what’s happened to her!” Her voice cracked as she spoke. Without waiting for a reply, she hung up, her hands shaking uncontrollably.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

She dialed George’s number, throwing clothes into her bag. When he answered, she didn’t waste a second.

“Where are you?!” she screamed into the phone, her voice filled with panic.

“I’m with the police,” George replied. “I’m giving them information about Missy.”

Mary froze for a moment, trying to calm her racing heart. For once, George was stepping up, actually doing something for their daughter.

“But I was told the school couldn’t reach you,” Mary said.

“Yeah… I was at the bar with a colleague, but I saw the missed calls and called them back right away,” George replied, sounding guilty.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“All right,” she managed to say, her voice steadier now. “I’m on my way.” She hung up, grabbed her keys, and rushed to the car.

She jumped into the car, her hands trembling as she fumbled with the keys. The engine roared to life, and she sped out of the parking lot. Her heart pounded in her chest as she weaved through traffic, ignoring the honks and angry shouts from other drivers.

She gripped the wheel so hard her knuckles turned white. Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them away, focusing on the road ahead.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Finally, she skidded to a stop in front of the school. Barely shutting the car door, she rushed inside. The teachers and staff crowded around her, their faces filled with worry.

“Missy didn’t come back to class after recess,” one of them explained. “We’ve been searching everywhere.”

Mary didn’t wait to hear more. She darted down the hallways, calling out Missy’s name. She checked every bathroom, looked under tables in classrooms, peeked behind doors, her desperation growing with each step.

“Missy! Where are you?” she cried. She started to feel dizzy, her breaths coming in short gasps. Her mind screamed, This is my fault! I should have never left her with George!

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Mary sat on the school steps, burying her face in her hands. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her body shook with quiet sobs. She felt helpless. Missy was still missing, and she didn’t know what to do.

Suddenly, her phone rang. She jumped, quickly wiping her eyes. It was George. Her hands trembled as she answered.

“What… what’s the police saying?” she stammered, her voice breaking.

“I found her,” George said, his voice steady.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Mary froze. “You… you found her?” she whispered, hardly believing it.

“Yes, we’re at the park. Come here now,” George replied.

Mary leaped up and sprinted to the park, her heart pounding. When she spotted George and Missy sitting on a bench, relief flooded over her. She ran toward them, dropping to her knees as she wrapped her arms around Missy. Tears spilled down her face, soaking Missy’s hair.

“Sweetie, what happened?” Mary asked, holding Missy close.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Missy looked up, her eyes wide. “Dad said we’d go for a walk later. I got tired at school, so I came to the park,” she said, her voice small.

Mary turned to George, shooting him a furious glance. He shifted his gaze to the ground, guilt written all over his face.

“Sweetheart, you can’t just leave school like that,” Mary said, her voice trembling. “We were so scared. We didn’t know where you were.”

Missy frowned. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again,” she said. “I just wanted to walk with Dad.”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Mary sighed, feeling the weight of her daughter’s words. She squeezed Missy’s hand. “All right, let’s go home,” she whispered.

On the drive home, the car was quiet. Missy had fallen asleep in the backseat, her head resting against the window. Mary gripped the steering wheel, her mind racing.

She wanted to scream at George, to shout about how careless he’d been, how he’d ignored their child for so long. But before she could open her mouth, George broke the silence.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Mary glanced at him, her eyes hard. “Sorry isn’t enough,” she replied, her tone sharp. “Our daughter could have been hurt today. Do you get that?”

George nodded, looking down at his hands. “I know,” he admitted. “I haven’t been the best father.”

Mary shook her head, anger bubbling up again. “It took her going missing for you to realize that? Really?”

George took a deep breath and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small piece of paper and handed it to her. Confused, Mary glanced down. It was a cruise ticket.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“What’s this?” she asked, still angry but now curious.

“You deserve a break,” George said, his voice steady. “After you left this morning, I saw the burnt eggs, the cereal, the pancakes. You made three breakfasts in one morning. And that’s only a small part of what you do every day. I’m sorry I didn’t see it before or appreciate you.”

Mary looked at the ticket, then back at George. “And who’s going to look after Missy?” she questioned.

“I will,” he answered, meeting her eyes. “I’m her father. It’s time I started acting like one.”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Mary pulled into the driveway and parked. She turned to George, her eyes softening. Slowly, she leaned over and hugged him, letting the tears flow.

“I’ll do better,” George promised, holding her tight. Mary nodded, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. Finally, he understood.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

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