The sun was a liar that day. It spilled over the city in a deceptive, golden warmth, mocking the cold weight in my chest as I drove through the familiar streets. Looking at the bright sky, you’d never guess that the world was about to fracture. The chapel was suffocatingly full. It seemed everyone had come to pay their final respects, a sea of black attire and rehearsed grief. As I scanned the room, checking the arrangements one last time, a bitter realization settled in my gut. I had shouldered this entire burden alone. Not one of them had lifted a finger for the burial preparations. I didn't complain, though. This was my final gift to him—a quiet way to repay the man who had given me a roof, clothes, and a seat at a table where I never quite felt I belonged. As the service prepared to begin, I steered Noah toward the back, choosing a row on the opposite side of the aisle from the main family. I couldn’t bring myself to sit with them. I didn’t belong in their circle of "pure" grief, and I certainly didn't belong next to Emma. "Mom, why are we sitting here?" Noah whispered, his small hand tugging at mine as he pointed toward the front. "Shouldn't we be with Grandma?" I felt the weight of a dozen judgmental stares prickling at my skin. The family’s disdain for me wasn't a secret; it was a scar I wore every day. "The seats are mostly full, honey," I lied, my voice tight. "I don't want to cause a scene by moving now." Noah looked at me with those perceptive eyes of his, clearly unconvinced, but he stayed quiet. Just as the priest stepped up to the pulpit, a sudden shift in the air made the hairs on my neck stand up. A familiar scent—expensive, woody, and haunting—reached me before he did. Rowan. I froze. My heart hammered against my ribs, a mixture of panic and old, stubborn longing. Why wasn't he with Emma? He belonged at her side, comforting his "perfect" choice. "Dad!" Noah’s whisper was a joyful hiss, drawing a few annoyed glances from the rows ahead. I glared back at them, my protective instincts flaring, even as my own soul felt like it was retreating into a dark corner. "Can I sit between you guys?" Noah asked, looking from me to Rowan. Relief washed over me, sharp and cold. "Of course," I whispered. We shifted, placing Noah as a human buffer between us. Only then could I breathe again, though the air still felt heavy with Rowan’s proximity. The preacher’s voice droned on, a somber rhythm against the backdrop of my racing thoughts. *"We all must leave this world one day,"* he intoned. *"The question is, how will you leave it? Will you have changed the lives of those you met? Or will you leave behind nothing but regrets?"* The words felt like a physical blow. If I died today, who would truly mourn? The people in this room would likely breathe a sigh of relief, perhaps even throw a feast to celebrate the departure of the family’s greatest disappointment. Only Noah would care. Just him. It was a hollow realization. I had spent my entire life living in Emma’s radiant, suffocating shadow. She was the beauty, the genius, the saint. I was the leftover, the mistake, the one who was never quite enough. Even now, as adults, the script hadn't changed. Her pain was always deeper, her happiness always more important. I was just the girl chasing the crumbs of affection she dropped. "Mommy..." Noah’s soft voice pulled me back from the abyss. The service was over. The crowd was beginning to filter out toward the cemetery. "Ava, are you okay?" The depth of Rowan’s voice made me shiver. I refused to look at him. I couldn't risk it—not with the image of him looking at Emma with such raw devotion still burned into my mind. We were tied together for the next ten years by a custody agreement, but that didn't mean I had to let him see how much I was bleeding inside. "Come on, Noah. Let's go," I said, my voice clipped. Outside, the air was thick with the scent of lilies and artificial sympathy. People crowded around, murmuring condolences that felt like empty noise. In the distance, I saw my colleagues and offered a weary wave, feeling utterly drained. "So, you finally decided to show your face." The voice was like a lash. I turned to find Emma standing there. Even with her eyes red and her face blotchy from crying, she looked like a tragic goddess. It was infuriating. "Not now, Emma," I sighed, exhaustion vibrating in my bones. "Can we just get through the burial first?" She stepped closer, a chilling, sharp smile cutting through her mask of grief. She leaned in, her voice a poisonous whisper meant only for me. "We’ll bury him, alright. But don't get comfortable. I’m back, Ava. You took my family once, but I’m taking everything back. Including the man who was always meant to be mine." She pulled away, leaving me reeling. I wanted to laugh, but the sound would have been too jagged. She didn't understand. There was nothing to take. The family already worshipped her. And Rowan? Rowan had never been mine to begin with. I led Noah toward the graveside, keeping my distance from the "inner circle." My mother, Emma, and Travis stood huddled together—a united front of grief. I stood on the periphery, a stranger at my own father’s funeral. "Dust to dust..." The sound of soil hitting the casket was final. My mother’s wails tore through the quiet afternoon, a haunting, desperate sound. Emma and Travis held her, their own tears flowing silently. I held Noah, pulling him against my side as he sobbed. I wiped my own stray tears, forcing myself to be the pillar he needed. As the crowd began to thin, Noah spotted Rowan’s parents nearby, standing with Rowan and his twin, Gabriel. "Mom, look! It's Pa and Ma!" Noah pulled at my hand. The interaction was stiff. Rowan’s parents acknowledged me with the kind of cool politeness reserved for an unwanted guest. I was the woman who had trapped their son, the one they never wanted. "Can I go get snacks with them?" Noah asked, his stomach likely growling after the long day. I nodded, watching him walk away with them. Suddenly, I was alone with Rowan. The silence between us was deafening. He wasn't even looking at me; his gaze was fixed on Emma, who stood a few yards away, looking frail and broken. I opened my mouth to excuse myself, to run away from the suffocating tension, when a sound shattered the peace of the cemetery. The screech of tires. It happened in a heartbeat. A black SUV swung around the bend, and masked men leaned out, their hands gripping cold steel. The air exploded with the rhythmic *crack-crack-crack* of gunfire. Panic erupted. Screams drowned out the birdsong. My eyes flew to Rowan. In that split second of life or death, I saw his instinct take over. He didn't turn to me. He didn't look for the mother of his child. He lunged through the air, throwing his entire weight onto Emma, shielding her body with his own as they hit the grass. The sight broke me more than any bullet could. I stood there, frozen in the line of fire, watching the man I loved risk everything for the woman he had always preferred. I wasn't his priority. I wasn't even an afterthought. "Watch out!" a voice roared. A man in a tactical vest collided with me, slamming me toward the ground. But he was a second too late. A searing, white-hot iron punched into my side. The impact knocked the wind from my lungs, sending me sprawling into the dirt. The world began to tilt. The screaming grew distant, muffled by a high-pitched ringing in my ears. "Someone call an ambulance!" the man yelled, his hands pressing down hard on my waist. I looked down, dazed. My dress, once black and somber, was turning a slick, dark crimson. The sight of the blood—my blood—sent a wave of cold through my limbs. "Oh god..." I wheezed, my vision blurring into grey smudges. "Noah..." His name was the last thing I whispered before the golden sun went black.