Facade of Love

Chapter 48

Chapter 48 Are you worthy?

I relayed to my mother the day’s events at the Scott Corporation,

Her brows furrowed in disbelief. “Impossible,” she declared. “Your father would never use a media company for money laundering. What would he gain from it? Besides, we haven’t had any significant income this year. Your father has always been dedicated to managing the Scott business well. He wouldn’t make such a mistake and plunge the Scott Corporation into crisis.”

Understanding her emotional turmoil, I took her hand in mine and reassured her. “Mom, I trust Dad too. That’s why I’ve promised the shareholders that I’ll trace the money within a month and clear Dad’s name.”

She nodded, her gaze resolute. “Yes, we must find out the truth. We absolutely must.”

While I was determined to uncover the truth about my father’s affairs, the immediate priority was to arrange his funeral. The following day, my mother and I visited the funeral home. It was not good to leave the b*dy unattended for too long.

Inside the solemn funeral home, my father’s b*dy lay peacefully in a paper casket, adorned with a multitude of yellow and white chrysanthemums. His face was serene, as if he was merely sleeping. Perhaps this was the tranquil visage we would all wear in death’s embrace.

“Please, family members, take a moment to grieve, and then wait in the adjoining resting room.”

After casting a final glance at my father, the funeral staff ushered us to the neighboring room, preparing to guide my father’s b*dy into the cremation furnace.

As I watched him being pushed into the furnace, my mother’s emotions shattered. Her b*dy trembled uncontrollably as she clung to me, pleading, “Yvette, can we not burn your father? He suffered so much

in life, how can he bear this now?”

A crushing weight seemed to seize my heart, making it hard to breathe. I knew, with a clarity that cut through the pain, that my mother was on the brink of emotional collapse. If I did not stay strong, no one would be left to handle my father’s final affairs.

I wrapped my arms around my mother, patting her shoulder in an attempt to soothe her. “Mom, It won’t hurt. 1 asked them, and they said it wouldn’t hurt. Dad will be out in just a little while. It won’t hurt.”

My mother’s voice broke, her words barely a whisper. “Really? It won’t hurt? With such high heat, he…” She could not finish her sentence. Published by Nôv'elD/rama.Org.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself as I reassured her, “Really, it won’t hurt. The heat is so intense, Dad won’t feel a thing.

It will be over soon‘

My mother’s heart ached for my father, and mine did too. I dared not dwell on whether he would feel pain. Some thoughts, once entertained, would unleash a torrent of emotions that threatened to pull me under. I could not afford to collapse like mother.

my

Forty minutes later, my father’s ashes were presented to us. As a child, I had naively believed that the “ashes‘ people spoke of were simply a pile of dust.

The moment I saw my father’s remains being wheeled out, I understood that even cremation could not reduce a person’s bones to ashes. My father’s skull and limbs were still distinctly there, and the rest of his b*dy was not ash but fragments of

bone.

His bones, darkened to a sickly yellow from his prolonged illness, were a stark contrast to the usual white I thought bones would be.

In the funeral home, my mother and I carefully placed each piece of my father’s remains into the urn. My mother cradled his skull, her gaze tracing the darkened lines, her hands shaking uncontrollably. Her voice, choked with emotion, whispered, Yvette, can you imagine how much he must have suffered?”

I had no words to offer, only silence.

By the time Moore arrived, my mother and I were ready to take my father to his final resting place. She was dressed in black,

Chapter 48 Are you worthy?

her face painted, her red l*ps a stark contrast that hurt to look at.

Upon seeing her, my mother gave her a cold stare, not uttering a single word.

I held my father’s urn, casting an indifferent glance at Idris, who stood a short distance behind her. He approached us, his tall figure looming over me as he reached out to take the urn.

I sidestepped him and got straight into the car. Uncle Marcus was driving. He glanced at the tardy pair, his brow furrowed, but he said nothing and started the car.

The cemetery was crowded with people, most of them friends and relatives who had known my father in life, all there to bid him a final farewell.

There were many customs associated with a burial, and my mother and I knelt before the grave, offering flowers in the hope that my father would receive them in the afterlife.

When Idris crouched down next to me, I was taken aback. I quickly snatched the flowers he was about to offer, saying coldly, You have no right to offer this for my father.”

He pressed his l*ps together, his brow furrowed, but after a moment, he stood and walked over to the tombstone to help Uncle Marcus set it up.

I did not want him touching anything related to my father. I stood up to make him leave, but as I did, a wave of dizziness washed over me, and I nearly fell.

He was the first to steady me, his voice a soft murmur. “Are you alright?”

I shrugged him off, my voice tight with suppressed anger. “Mr. Young, I’d appreciate it if you and Moore would leave.”

His gaze met mine, his dark eyes shadowed and restrained. “Yvette, I am your husband.”

“Husband?” I scoffed, pointing at Moore, who was kneeling with feigned sorrow at my father’s grave, “You’re the man who drove my own sister to anger my father into an early grave. Do you think you’re worthy of being my husband?”