Robert stammered, “She died of lung cancer.
She lost a lot of weight. We didn’t know she
was sick. We didn’t recognize her…”
47
“Who said she died of lung cancer?” the
attendant asked. “It was winter. Remember the
snowstorms? She froze to death.”
His voice softened. “Her clothes were soaked,
frozen solid.”
- 36.
There was no funeral. Ashley’s ashes were
taken directly to the cemetery. A quiet, private
<
11:25
47
affair. No one else was there. No one knew
where she was buried. Friends and family were
outraged. Why had they neglected Ashley her
Friends and family couldn’t understand. Why
had they neglected Ashley her entire life, and
now, wouldn’t even give her a proper funeral?
“There are cheaper ways to save money,” they
muttered.
Robert and Carol couldn’t explain. They didn’t
have a body, they didn’t have ashes. They
didn’t even have a picture of Ashley for a
memorial service.
What were they supposed to do? How could
they admit they hadn’t recognized their own
daughter?
They’d tried to get Ashley’s ashes from Jason,
but he’d just said, “Scattered.” He ignored their
calls and messages. In March, he moved to
Seattle and never came back.
<
11:25
47
Life went back to normal for Carol. Just her and Robert, and a child who never came home. But there was an emptiness in her heart, a constant ache that surfaced at unexpected moments. A single word, a fleeting image, would trigger a memory of naming her daughter. Ashley, for a bright, energetic spirit. Roberts, a name that meant “bright fame.” She’d wished for Ashley to have a vibrant, happy, and safe life.
Instead, Ashley had been withdrawn, timid,
devoid of the joy and innocence of childhood. A quiet, somber child, like a tiny, dying old
woman. Carol hadn’t been able to connect with
her.
But Ashley hadn’t always been like that. She’d reach out her chubby arms for hugs, kick her little legs in delight, cover Carol’s face with
slobbery kisses. The first time Ashley said
“Mama,” Carol had laughed. Ashley, clinging to
the crib, her little face beaming, had repeated
“Mama” all day, giggling and clapping her
11:25
hands every time Carol responded.
47)
On her birthdays, Ashley would wish to be with
Mom and Dad forever. How could she be gone?
How could she cut them out of her life so
completely?
One day, Carol finally tracked down a video of Ashley’s fifth–grade Christmas party.
Ashley sat in the corner, small and thin, almost swallowed by the boisterous crowd. But she stood out. She was the only one not wearing
party clothes. The only one without snacks, her
desk empty.
She wore a stained blue and white uniform, clutching a faded, threadbare red jacket zipped tightly over her chest. Her long bangs hid her
face as she stared at the screen, watching
parents share their hopes and dreams for their
children. The other kids, dressed in their finest
clothes, traded candy and treats.
11:25
4
47
Ashley swallowed hard, not daring to look. She
looked like a beggar who’d wandered into a fancy banquet.
Every child received a surprise video message from their parents. Except Ashley. But she smiled throughout the entire party. And when the teacher asked the children to express their gratitude to their parents, Ashley’s voice was
the loudest.
“Mommy and Daddy, I love you!” Her eyes
shone.
Carol replayed the last thirty seconds of the video over and over, listening to Ashley’s declaration of love. Her heart ached. Her
precious girl, trapped in a nightmare, still loved them with all her heart. She’d believed, with
unwavering faith, that her parents would save
her.
And what had Carol done? She was the worst
<
11:25
mother in the world,
- 37.
Carol asked for a divorce again. This time, she
was adamant.
“I don’t care about your reputation. I don’t care
what people think.”
“Unlike you, I can’t stand being near someone I
hate. Do you have any idea how much I despise
you right now?”
Robert pleaded with her. “Maybe I mishandled
things with Ashley, but we never neglected her.
I worked my whole life for this family! Don’t
leave me now! I’ve lost my daughter! I want to
be buried with you both when I die…”
“Then make things right with Brittany,” Carol
interrupted, a strange smile playing on her lips.
“Avenge Ashley. Then I’ll forgive you.”
く
11:26
“Okay,” Robert agreed readily. “I’ll create a
fake account and post everything she did. I’ll
ruin her reputation.”
“That’s it?”
47
Robert frowned. “We can’t go too far. It’s not
worth it. Besides, the cyber police can trace
those posts.”
Carol didn’t want to argue. She just wanted a
divorce. Robert lost his patience. “What more
do you want from me? Ashley didn’t even leave
me a message! It was all for you! Did she even
consider me her father?”
“I provided for her! I worked my fingers to the
bone! And what do I get? Blame! One mistake,
and my entire life is judged! Did I do those
things to her? Did I give her cancer? I’ve been
more than forgiving! I’ve been a saint!”
That was the final straw. They were at an
<
11:26
impasse. Desperate to maintain some
semblance of a relationship, some shred of dignity, Robert suggested a separation, not a divorce. He offered Carol the house and half of
Ashley’s money.
He moved out, claiming his new job was too far away, that he’d be living in the company dorm. A month later, Carol sold the house. She donated her half of Ashley’s money, along with the proceeds from the sale, to a local charity that supported children left behind in rural
villages.
(Jason’s perspective)
Junior year of high school, a girl with a bad reputation moved into the apartment across from me. Ashley Roberts. Supposedly, she aced
the entrance exams but was a kleptomaniac.
I installed a security camera outside my door.
<
11:26
47
She was a creature of habit. Left an hour
before me every morning, came back half an
hour later every evening. For a whole month, I
never saw her face.
But I knew what she looked like. Everyone did.
Plain, boring center–parted hair, a choppy,
uneven bob, and the standard school uniform.
During assemblies, I’d stand next to her class,
and there she’d be, the back of her head a
perfect mushroom shape, her neck long and
pale.
The other kids called her “Mushroom Head.” I
thought it suited her. Her perfect posture, her
serious demeanor, stood out among the
slouching, indifferent teenagers.
I couldn’t help but notice her. While everyone
else huddled in groups, terrified of being alone,
she was always by herself, moving through the
school day with quiet determination. Morning
readings, classes, study hall, evening runs. The
<
11:26
gossip seemed to bounce right off her.
I admired her strength. Midterms came, and she topped the class again. I was stunned when I
heard her scores. Each individual score was
higher than all of mine combined.
How did she stay awake in class? And she
woke up so early every day. With that perfectly round mushroom hairdo.
I passed her classroom countless times on the way to the bathroom. While I was busy
observing her, she never even glanced my way.
So proud, so aloof.
I started running at night, too. Lap after lap, faster than her, just slightly ahead, so she could admire my athletic form, my perfectly sculpted
back.
When her footsteps got closer, I’d speed up.
When they faded, I’d slow down.
<
11:26
- ))
I wore tight–fitting clothes to show off my muscles. I hoped the dim lights on the track
