Evan cried so hard that his voice gave out. On his finger was the ring they had saved up for months to buy, a ring they had worn for less than a month. It seemed unbearably bright now.
I wiped away my tears and helped him to his feet. “Evan, let’s go see Harriet.”
He was so overwhelmed with grief that he collapsed as soon as he stood up, falling into unconsciousness.
…
On the day of her burial, our parents didn’t show up.
To them, Harriet was a failure, a worthless daughter who couldn’t even make something of herself.
Evan spent all his savings to buy her a burial plot in the city center.
That day, it rained heavily. Evan sat alone by the tombstone, drinking bottle after bottle until he vomited blood.
The rain fell harder, and he shivered uncontrollably.
When he finally sobered up a bit, he saw that I was still standing there. He took off his coat and draped it over my shoulders.
“Erin, Harriet’s death wasn’t just some simple accident,” he said with a voice filled with anger. “Why was it that her agent called her, and yet she ended up at that hotel? Why is it that the blame is only being placed on those thugs, without anyone looking deeper into what really happened?