Every drop of blood in my body rushed to my head. I lunged forward, screaming. "Give that back to me! Do you have any idea what that—"
Benedict's palm cracked across my face and sent me to the floor. Meeting my stunned, disbelieving eyes, guilt crept into his voice. "I'm sorry, Phoebe. You insisted on making a scene. I had no choice—"
Naomi raised the urn high above her head, a deliberate threat. "Phoebe. Sign the forgiveness agreement, and everyone walks away happy."
I squeezed my eyes shut against the agony. On one side, my father's body, his eyes still open in death. On the other, the memory of my daughter kicking inside my belly.
I looked at Benedict through bloodshot eyes. "Benedict, do you really have to push me this far?"
Something unreadable passed through his gaze. He frowned, confused. "Phoebe, your father is gone. The dead can't come back. Can't you just think of it as building good karma for our daughter? She's still in the incubator at the hospital—"
But he didn't know yet. Our daughter was already dead.
"I'll sign."
They watched me write my name on the forgiveness agreement. Every one of them smiled, satisfied.