The self-righteous look on his face hit me like a wall. In that instant, I could see exactly what my life would look like after adopting Herbert—the moment anything fell short of their expectations, this was the treatment I'd get.
I smiled, though there was nothing behind it but mockery aimed at myself.
Herman must have caught something in my expression, because he realized his tone had been too harsh. He lowered his voice.
"Sorry. Her mother was being difficult earlier, and I've been angry the whole drive back. I didn't rein it in."
There was a time when the slightest hint that I wasn't feeling well would've sent him into a panic. He would've hovered, refused to let me lift a finger.
Now he'd forgotten my cycle entirely. My discomfort didn't even register.
I said nothing and went back to the bedroom alone.
I hadn't been lying down long when a sharp crash came from the living room.
I rushed out. A layer of dark ash dusted the floor.
Herbert was still holding the lid of the urn. The body of it lay shattered across the tiles.
My eyes burned red in an instant.
"Who told you to go through my things?!"
He froze where he stood, startled by my outburst.