Right as they wheeled Mom into the cremator, Dad's phone rang.

From the sound of the voice it was a woman, quite young.

A young woman's voice came through. "Frank, is that bitch toasted yet? I've already moved my stuff in."

Dad couldn't hide his excitement.

He told me, "Jessica, Stephanie's moving in. You deal with your mom's ashes. I need to get home and cook for Stephanie."

I thought to myself, "Look, Mom, the man you bent over backwards for all your life can't even be bothered to collect your ashes. But I will."

Mom, you were the only light I had. And yet, you betrayed me.

——

The hospital called with my biopsy results.

I had advanced lung cancer. They wanted me to start chemo, but I refused.

The doctor was shocked. "You're only twenty-seven, and with the right treatment, you could live longer. If you give up now, you might only have three months..."

I thought, "Three months? That's alright. Soon, I'll be with Mom. She was so gentle and kind. I bet she must be suffering in the next world."

I have to join her. Otherwise, she would just worry about my dad, Frank Quinn up here.

Actually, Mom, Matilda Quinn, was supposed to have been cremated two days ago. But Frank had the nerve to call me and say, "Jessica, I can't afford your mom's cremation. How about that? I'll just leave her at the crematorium. Maybe they'll take pity and do it for free."

That was how I found out Mom was dead.

Frank claimed she died from carbon monoxide poisoning while cooking, nearly taking him with her.

Frank even called my mom and me jinxes, his bad luck.

I was at the crematorium waiting by eight o'clock the next morning.

Frank showed up at noon, looking rushed and checking his watch non-stop.

"Jessica, is your mom cremated yet? I need a quick look then I've got to run," Frank said.

"What are you, the president? Can't spare a couple of hours for your wife's cremation?" I shot back.

The crematorium staff came over, clearly annoyed. "Who's paying? We're charging a storage fee too."

Frank just touched his eyes and nose, saying nothing. I gave him a side-eye and said, "I'll pay."

Thirty minutes into the cremation, Frank's phone rang.

It was the woman from yesterday. "Darling, I moved my stuff over today. Is that bitch toasted yet?"

Frank covered the phone with his hand, trying to muffle the sound. "You're here? I'll be right back."

He hung up, grinning from ear to ear.

"Jessica, Stephanie's coming to our place. I need to go home and cook for her," he told me.

Frank walked off, phone in hand, not even waiting to glance at my mom's ashes.

I thought, "Look, Mom, the man you bent over backwards for all your life can't even be bothered to collect your ashes."

I'd prepared a white urn for her.

Mom always wore white. She never touched another color.

She said she liked white because it stood for purity and kindness. And she believed if she wore white, Frank might look her way more often.

Everything Mom did was for Frank.

Anyway, I always hoped Frank could show Mom some affection, because it made her smile at me, and her smile was the warmest.

Even when Mom was upset and took it out on me, I couldn't hold it against her because I felt sorry for her.

Frank didn't love Mom, and she had a tough time with it.

I had just walked in with Mom's urn when Frank burst out of the kitchen.

He barked, "Grab your stuff and get out. I've already burned all your mom's things.

And keep that bitch's urn out of my place. Put it anywhere else."

Frank's face was twisted with cruelty. I knew he didn't pretend to care about Mom anymore, but his ugliness still shocked me.

"Why the hell would you burn my mom's things?" I shot back.

"She's dead. Her stuff just brings bad vibes," a sharp voice cut in.

There was Stephanie Wilson, lounging on the couch with her feet up on the coffee table, tossing nutshells onto the floor.

Frank stormed over, fuming. "Jessica, just because you're grown doesn't mean you can sass me. I'm still your dad. You and your bitch of a mother are both a pain in the ass."

Stephanie piped up, "Frank, chill. People might think I'm the bad guy here. After all, Matilda was your wife. Just let her urn stay."

Frank's face softened instantly. "Listen, Jessica. Stephanie's the reason you're allowed in here today. Otherwise, you'd be out for good."

I felt utterly drained. It seemed like I had used up all my strength today. The tumor in my lungs was taking its toll. I was gasping for breath just from climbing the stairs.

"Whatever. Just let Mom rest in peace today," I thought.

I placed Mom's urn on the living room windowsill, the only spot bathed in sunlight.

Stephanie swaggered over and said, "Not there. Put it in the bathroom. What if my friends see it here and freak out?"

Frank leaned out from the kitchen. "Do what Stephanie says, or I swear I'll dump your mom's ashes down the drain tonight."

I closed my eyes for a moment. Watching Stephanie cozy up to Frank made me nauseous.

I vomited right on Stephanie's feet.

Furious, Frank grabbed a spatula and smacked me on the head. "Brat, where the hell do you think you're puking? You're as stupid as your mother. She cooked herself to death, stupid as a pig."

I threw up everything I'd eaten the night before.

A dark thought crossed my mind, "It would be perfect if I just died here. Then they'd wake up to find my body on the floor, discolored with livor mortis. That should disgust them for a while."

"Frank, if there's a hell, you're definitely going there if you place Mom's ashes in the bathroom," I said.

Frank looked genuinely scared for a second. He paused, then turned to Stephanie, pleading with his eyes.

Stephanie glared at him with disgust. "Useless. You promised everything would be okay once Matilda was out of the picture."

"Stephanie, it's just an urn. I'll cover it with a cardboard box. We can't risk bad luck for you and the baby because of her," Frank replied.

Stephanie, hand on her belly, slumped back onto the couch. "Seriously, Matilda was such a bitch. Can't even let us be after she's dead."

That was when I caught on that Stephanie was pregnant. No wonder Frank was fawning over her. I didn't bother to find out how far along she was.

After all, Mom was dead, the only person who ever really cared for Frank. As for me, I couldn't care less about him. I was dying too.

I set Mom's urn down properly. Even though Frank covered it with a box, it beat the bathroom.

When I went back to my room, I found Frank had turned it into a game room. My wardrobe and bookshelf were gone. The fold-up bed where I'd spent so many years was shoved into a corner, its mattress dirty and yellowing.

The only clean item was my bedsheet, neatly folded in a battered box along with my diploma and certificates.

This was Mom's work, probably the only thing she could manage for me.

Though her heart belonged to Frank, this gesture meant a lot.

I burned all the photos of me and Mom, leaving only two individual ones for remembrance.

I was dying, after all.

I stayed in my room for days. The pain in my body worsened, especially in my lower abdomen.

I guessed the cancer had spread, maybe to my liver, or perhaps to a bone.

I couldn't bother with that anymore. I was too close to dying.

One day, I lay down to sleep as usual. Stephanie's soft sobs drifted in from outside. It had been a regular sound lately, likely her dealing with morning sickness. I expected it would stop soon, but just then my bedroom door flew open.

Frank stormed into my room, clutching an iron rod. "Jessica, did you steal Stephanie's gold bracelet?"

I struggled to sit up. The sight of my hollow cheeks startled him. He stuttered, "Y-You..."

"I didn't steal anything," I said, leaning against the wall. "Look at me. How could I even steal?"

It looked like I had convinced Frank. He turned and left.

Outside, Stephanie's cries grew louder.

She cried out, "So, you don't trust me, Frank? I'm only thirty-five, having a baby for a fifty-year-old. And now you doubt me?

That bitch is dead, and now her daughter's moved in. Do you think I'm some kind of doormat?"

Frank was quick to soothe her. "Stephanie, don't cry. It could harm the baby. I'll buy you two more bracelets, okay?"

Stephanie abruptly stopped crying. "That will cost fifty thousand dollars. Do you even have that kind of money?"

Their voices became muffled, and I couldn't catch what they said next. The following day, my suitcase was gone. Inside were the portraits of my mom and me, everything I had.

I got out of bed and went out to ask, "Dad, where's my suitcase?"

Frank was busy massaging Stephanie's belly with oil.

Without looking up, he muttered, "What suitcase? I don't know what you're talking about.

You're young. Don't just sit around here. Go get a job, and earn some money for your unborn brother's formula."

Stephanie glanced up at me and sneered, "She looks so ugly and dirty. Darling, the child I'm carrying will definitely be better than that bitch's."

Frank kept massaging Stephanie, looking pleased.

They were all smiles and sweet talk, completely ignoring me.

I yelled, "Shut the fuck up, both of you!"

"Frank, where the hell is my suitcase? What did you do with it?" I demanded, staring him down. He seemed startled.

He shot back, "Look at your eyes popping out. What's with the glare?"

"That's my stuff. How dare you take it, you monster!" I yelled.

Frank seemed surprised by my curse. He stood up abruptly, his hand slick with stretch mark oil, and slapped me across the face.

I staggered back, crashing into something that sent sharp pain shooting through my lower back.

"I sold that damn suitcase. It was an eyesore," Frank snapped.

"You had no right to touch my stuff. I'm going to call the cops," I said, struggling to reach my phone.

Frank rushed at me and shoved me to the ground.

"Jessica, listen, I'm still your father. You need to return whatever you stole," he said sternly.

"I didn't steal anything," I insisted.

Stephanie's voice pierced the air. "Oh please, did my gold bracelet just grow legs and walk away? You definitely stole it, you little thief. Your hands are as dirty as your mother's.

She would steal my makeup, trying to look as pretty as me. It's pathetic. She got old, and no makeup could fix that."

Frank wiped his hands as if he'd touched something dirty after pushing me.

Disgust etched on his face, he spat, "No wonder your mom always said you had sticky fingers. Even she couldn't trust you.

Don't ever tell people you're my daughter. It's humiliating."

I gasped for breath. "Liar. My mom never said those things."

Frank grabbed my face roughly. "Jessica, you stole from your own parents in middle school, from your teachers in high school. You've always been a thief. Who else would it be?

Don't tell me I'm falsely accusing you. Your mom told me all this. I wouldn't have known otherwise."

"Mom?" I murmured.

"She wouldn't have told you that!" My voice cracked.

I knew Mom loved Frank more than she loved me, but those secrets were mine alone, shared only with her.

Stephanie seemed amused by the drama.

She scoffed, "Jessica, your mom was pathetic. Cooking for me right up until she died.

By the way, she begged for the job. You don't pass up a free maid. But her death? Really weird. Anyway, she died before she even finished my laundry. That was inconvenient."