My mother dumped my baby’s ashes into the toilet because she said my grief was “bad energy” for my pregnant sister….

“What are you doing?” Chloe asked.

I looked at my mother, then at the empty urn visible through the doorway. “I’m making sure none of you get to call this a family misunderstanding.”

My mother’s expression flickered. “Don’t be dramatic.”

I opened the contacts—Pastor Glenn, Aunt Teresa, Dad’s golf group chat, then the administrator board for the real estate company where he had spent twenty-five years building a reputation on being respectable, dependable, community-minded.

“They had no idea,” I said, my thumb hovering over the screen, “what I would do next.”
The first thing I did was turn on the camera.