My Mother's Ashes, My Fury Unleashed

My husband Collin forced me to watch him with his mistress, Jaime, calling it my "education" on how to be a woman. This was my reality for months, even on our wedding anniversary.

He refused to pay for my mother's life-saving treatment, causing her death. Then, he let Jaime beat me so severely that I miscarried the baby I didn't even know I was carrying, leaving me unable to ever have children.

As if that wasn't enough, Jaime shattered my mother's urn in front of me and fed her ashes to a dog, all while Collin watched.

My mother's last words were, "Stop begging him."

She left me a number for my estranged uncle, a powerful man I barely knew.

When I called him, he sent a jet to bring me to London.

Now, I'm back. Not as the broken wife he discarded, but as the new CEO of his collapsing company, ready to take everything from him.

Chapter 1

Calista POV

My stomach churned, a familiar cold knot forming as Collin's voice, laced with disdain, cut through the thin hotel room walls. "You're just... unfulfilling, Calista."

He didn't even bother to soften the blow. Not anymore. I clutched the silk robe tighter around me, the fabric doing little to fend off the chill that had settled deep in my bones.

Across the room, Jaime giggled, a bright, triumphant sound that sliced right through me. Her slender fingers, adorned with a ring I recognized as mine-a gift from Collin on our first anniversary-traced patterns on his chest. He was shirtless, casual, entirely at ease in his infidelity.

"She always was, wasn't she?" Jaime purred, her eyes, dark and glittering, met mine over Collin's bare shoulder. A wicked smile played on her lips, a shared secret between them, a weapon against me.

I stood there, forced to watch. This was Collin's twisted idea of "education." He claimed I needed to learn how to be a woman, how to please a man. Jaime, barely out of her teens, was supposedly my tutor. Every weekend, for months now, this had been my reality. Our wedding anniversary weekend, no less. How fitting.

Jaime untangled herself from Collin, sauntering towards me with fake concern. "Are you okay, Calista? You look a little pale."

She reached out, her fingers digging into my arm. A sharp sting, then a burning sensation. Her nails were long, freshly manicured. I didn't flinch, didn't give her the satisfaction.

"Here." I reached into my robe pocket, pulling out a crisp hundred-dollar bill. My hand trembled slightly, but only I would notice. "This is for your... time."

Jaime snatched the money, her eyes narrowing. "That's it? For my time? Collin works me hard, you know." Her voice was a childish whine, but her eyes held a predatory glint. She slapped my arm harder, the sting now radiating up to my shoulder.

"Jaime!" Collin's voice was sharp, a mock-reprimand. He was pulling on his expensive silk pajamas, a smirk playing on his face. "Be nice."

She skipped back to him, rubbing her wrist with exaggerated theatricality. "She pinched me! She's so jealous, Collin."

He wrapped an arm around her, kissing her forehead. "My poor baby. I know, she just doesn't understand our special connection." He looked at me then, his gaze cold, devoid of any warmth it once held. "You see, Calista? Some women know how to appreciate a man's efforts."

He pulled a thick wad of bills from his nightstand drawer, pressing them into Jaime's hand. "Go on, sweetheart. Buy yourself something pretty. Ignore her."

Jaime' s smile returned, wide and victorious. She blew him a kiss, then tossed a triumphant glance my way before disappearing into the adjoining room. The door clicked shut, leaving Collin and me in a silence thick with unspoken accusations.

"Your mother's medical bills arrived today," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. I refused to let him see me break.

Collin sighed, running a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. "Again? That woman is a bottomless pit. How much is it this time?"

"It's the experimental treatment," I explained, my throat tightening. "The doctors say it's her best shot. It's a lot, Collin. More than we expected."

He scoffed. "More than you expected. I told you, if she can't pull through, she can't pull through. Why waste good money?" He paused, then added with a smirk, "Besides, Jaime doesn't ask for payment. She's here because she wants to be. She cherishes my company, unlike some people."

My hands clenched at my sides. Cherishes his company. The words felt like a physical blow.

"I'll handle it," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

"Good. And don't forget we have that charity gala next week. Try to look less like a ghost, Calista. And maybe," he leaned in, his voice dropping to a mocking whisper, "I'll even give you a proper wedding night. You know, for old times' sake. After Jaime has taught you a thing or two."

I just nodded, my eyes fixed on a spot on the wall behind him. The money he had given Jaime for her "time" burned a hole in my pocket. I would use it. But not for what he thought.

Later, as I lay in the cold, empty bed we once shared, the memory of my mother's fading voice echoed in my ears. The hospital room was sterile, white, smelling of antiseptic and despair. I had called Collin, desperate, begging him to approve the funds for her treatment.

"Collin, please," I had pleaded into the phone, tears streaming down my face. "It's life or death. Just this once."

All I heard in response was a soft moan, then Jaime's muffled giggle, followed by Collin's low, possessive chuckle. He knew I was listening. He wanted me to hear. He had hung up without a word.

My mother, frail and fading, had understood. She saw the desperation in my eyes, the way my shoulders slumped, the silent pleading that had become my default state.

"Stop begging him, Calista," she whispered, her voice raspy, barely audible. "You deserve more than that."

She had refused further treatment that day. A week later, she was gone. Her last words, etched into my memory, a command, a release: "Stop begging him."

I slid my hand under the pillow, pulling out the frayed piece of paper she had pressed into my hand just before she closed her eyes for good. A name. A number. Bernard Velasquez.

My estranged uncle. My mother's brother.

My fingers, still trembling, dialed the number. Three rings, then a gruff, deep voice answered. "Velasquez."

"Uncle Bernard," I whispered, my voice thick with unshed tears. "It's Calista."

A beat of silence. Then, a roar of pure, unadulterated joy. "Calista! My little hummingbird! Is that truly you? Oh, my dearest, it's been far too long! Where have you been? Are you alright?"

I closed my eyes, a single tear escaping. "I'm... fine, Uncle."

"Fine? You don't sound fine, child," he said, his voice instantly softening, concern replacing the boisterous cheer. "Tell me everything. No, don't tell me over the phone. I'll send a jet. You're coming to London. Immediately."

"I..." I began, but he cut me off.

"No arguments. Your mother would have wanted this. My sister, she... she always knew you were meant for more than that simpleton you married." His voice was low, laced with an old anger I didn't understand. "Just say yes, Calista."

"Yes," I breathed, the word a fragile promise.

"Good. You'll be safe here. And we'll sort everything out." His voice was a balm, a distant echo of a family I barely remembered.

I hung up, a strange mix of fear and relief washing over me. The decision was made. I was leaving. I was done begging.

A warm hand suddenly closed around my waist, pulling me backward against a hard chest. Collin. His scent, a mix of expensive cologne and someone else's cheap perfume, filled my nostrils.

"Who was that, darling?" His voice was smooth, deceptively gentle, but the grip on my waist tightened, a silent threat.

I stiffened, my gaze falling to his neck. A faint red mark, a hickey, blossomed just beneath his ear. Jaime's mark. Always Jaime's mark.

"Just a work call," I lied, my voice flat. "About some old investments."

"Investments?" He chuckled, his breath warm against my ear. "You still dabble in that finance rubbish? I thought you gave that up for us." His hand moved, tracing the curve of my hip. "You know, you've been quiet lately. Not a single tear, not a single plea. Are you still angry about... everything?"

"No," I replied, pulling away subtly. "Just tired."

"Tired?" He spun me around, his eyes piercing mine. "Or just boring? I've been telling you, Calista, you've become so predictable. So utterly uninteresting in bed. Jaime, she has a spark. A fire. You used to have that, once." He sneered. "Or maybe I just imagined it."

My stomach clenched. "I'm just not feeling well," I mumbled, trying to push past him. "It's that time of the month."

He watched me, a flicker of suspicion in his eyes, but then he just shrugged. "Fine. Women and their moods." He turned, heading for the bathroom. "Just don't expect me to be waiting around for you to get over it."

I watched him go, the words "Stop begging him" ringing in my ears. I wasn't begging anymore. I wasn't even angry. Just... empty. And determined. My body felt heavy, aching with a pain that had nothing to do with menstruation, and everything to do with the hollow space where my heart used to be. The night felt endless, each tick of the clock dragging me further into a nightmare I couldn't escape, or so I thought. I just needed to hold on a little longer.

My stomach churned, a familiar cold knot forming as Collin's voice, laced with disdain, cut through the thin hotel room walls. "You're just... unfulfilling, Calista."

He didn't even bother to soften the blow. Not anymore. I clutched the silk robe tighter around me, the fabric doing little to fend off the chill that had settled deep in my bones.

Across the room, Jaime giggled, a bright, triumphant sound that sliced right through me. Her slender fingers, adorned with a ring I recognized as mine-a gift from Collin on our first anniversary-traced patterns on his chest. He was shirtless, casual, entirely at ease in his infidelity.

"She always was, wasn't she?" Jaime purred, her eyes, dark and glittering, met mine over Collin's bare shoulder. A wicked smile played on her lips, a shared secret between them, a weapon against me.

I stood there, forced to watch. This was Collin's twisted idea of "education." He claimed I needed to learn how to be a woman, how to please a man. Jaime, barely out of her teens, was supposedly my tutor. Every weekend, for months now, this had been my reality. Our wedding anniversary weekend, no less. How fitting.

Jaime untangled herself from Collin, sauntering towards me with fake concern. "Are you okay, Calista? You look a little pale."

She reached out, her fingers digging into my arm. A sharp sting, then a burning sensation. Her nails were long, freshly manicured. I didn't flinch, didn't give her the satisfaction.

"Here." I reached into my robe pocket, pulling out a crisp hundred-dollar bill. My hand trembled slightly, but only I would notice. "This is for your... time."

Jaime snatched the money, her eyes narrowing. "That's it? For my time? Collin works me hard, you know." Her voice was a childish whine, but her eyes held a predatory glint. She slapped my arm harder, the sting now radiating up to my shoulder.

"Jaime!" Collin's voice was sharp, a mock-reprimand. He was pulling on his expensive silk pajamas, a smirk playing on his face. "Be nice."

She skipped back to him, rubbing her wrist with exaggerated theatricality. "She pinched me! She's so jealous, Collin."

He wrapped an arm around her, kissing her forehead. "My poor baby. I know, she just doesn't understand our special connection." He looked at me then, his gaze cold, devoid of any warmth it once held. "You see, Calista? Some women know how to appreciate a man's efforts."

He pulled a thick wad of bills from his nightstand drawer, pressing them into Jaime's hand. "Go on, sweetheart. Buy yourself something pretty. Ignore her."

Jaime' s smile returned, wide and victorious. She blew him a kiss, then tossed a triumphant glance my way before disappearing into the adjoining room. The door clicked shut, leaving Collin and me in a silence thick with unspoken accusations.

"Your mother's medical bills arrived today," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. I refused to let him see me break.

Collin sighed, running a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. "Again? That woman is a bottomless pit. How much is it this time?"

"It's the experimental treatment," I explained, my throat tightening. "The doctors say it's her best shot. It's a lot, Collin. More than we expected."

He scoffed. "More than you expected. I told you, if she can't pull through, she can't pull through. Why waste good money?" He paused, then added with a smirk, "Besides, Jaime doesn't ask for payment. She's here because she wants to be. She cherishes my company, unlike some people."

My hands clenched at my sides. Cherishes his company. The words felt like a physical blow.

"I'll handle it," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

"Good. And don't forget we have that charity gala next week. Try to look less like a ghost, Calista. And maybe," he leaned in, his voice dropping to a mocking whisper, "I'll even give you a proper wedding night. You know, for old times' sake. After Jaime has taught you a thing or two."

I just nodded, my eyes fixed on a spot on the wall behind him. The money he had given Jaime for her "time" burned a hole in my pocket. I would use it. But not for what he thought.

Later, as I lay in the cold, empty bed we once shared, the memory of my mother's fading voice echoed in my ears. The hospital room was sterile, white, smelling of antiseptic and despair. I had called Collin, desperate, begging him to approve the funds for her treatment.

"Collin, please," I had pleaded into the phone, tears streaming down my face. "It's life or death. Just this once."

All I heard in response was a soft moan, then Jaime's muffled giggle, followed by Collin's low, possessive chuckle. He knew I was listening. He wanted me to hear. He had hung up without a word.

My mother, frail and fading, had understood. She saw the desperation in my eyes, the way my shoulders slumped, the silent pleading that had become my default state.

"Stop begging him, Calista," she whispered, her voice raspy, barely audible. "You deserve more than that."

She had refused further treatment that day. A week later, she was gone. Her last words, etched into my memory, a command, a release: "Stop begging him."

I slid my hand under the pillow, pulling out the frayed piece of paper she had pressed into my hand just before she closed her eyes for good. A name. A number. Bernard Velasquez.

My estranged uncle. My mother's brother.

My fingers, still trembling, dialed the number. Three rings, then a gruff, deep voice answered. "Velasquez."

"Uncle Bernard," I whispered, my voice thick with unshed tears. "It's Calista."

A beat of silence. Then, a roar of pure, unadulterated joy. "Calista! My little hummingbird! Is that truly you? Oh, my dearest, it's been far too long! Where have you been? Are you alright?"

I closed my eyes, a single tear escaping. "I'm... fine, Uncle."

"Fine? You don't sound fine, child," he said, his voice instantly softening, concern replacing the boisterous cheer. "Tell me everything. No, don't tell me over the phone. I'll send a jet. You're coming to London. Immediately."

"I..." I began, but he cut me off.

"No arguments. Your mother would have wanted this. My sister, she... she always knew you were meant for more than that simpleton you married." His voice was low, laced with an old anger I didn't understand. "Just say yes, Calista."

"Yes," I breathed, the word a fragile promise.

"Good. You'll be safe here. And we'll sort everything out." His voice was a balm, a distant echo of a family I barely remembered.

I hung up, a strange mix of fear and relief washing over me. The decision was made. I was leaving. I was done begging.

A warm hand suddenly closed around my waist, pulling me backward against a hard chest. Collin. His scent, a mix of expensive cologne and someone else's cheap perfume, filled my nostrils.

"Who was that, darling?" His voice was smooth, deceptively gentle, but the grip on my waist tightened, a silent threat.

I stiffened, my gaze falling to his neck. A faint red mark, a hickey, blossomed just beneath his ear. Jaime's mark. Always Jaime's mark.

"Just a work call," I lied, my voice flat. "About some old investments."

"Investments?" He chuckled, his breath warm against my ear. "You still dabble in that finance rubbish? I thought you gave that up for us." His hand moved, tracing the curve of my hip. "You know, you've been quiet lately. Not a single tear, not a single plea. Are you still angry about... everything?"

"No," I replied, pulling away subtly. "Just tired."

"Tired?" He spun me around, his eyes piercing mine. "Or just boring? I've been telling you, Calista, you've become so predictable. So utterly uninteresting in bed. Jaime, she has a spark. A fire. You used to have that, once." He sneered. "Or maybe I just imagined it."

My stomach clenched. "I'm just not feeling well," I mumbled, trying to push past him. "It's that time of the month."

He watched me, a flicker of suspicion in his eyes, but then he just shrugged. "Fine. Women and their moods." He turned, heading for the bathroom. "Just don't expect me to be waiting around for you to get over it."

I watched him go, the words "Stop begging him" ringing in my ears. I wasn't begging anymore. I wasn't even angry. Just... empty. And determined. My body felt heavy, aching with a pain that had nothing to do with menstruation, and everything to do with the hollow space where my heart used to be. The night felt endless, each tick of the clock dragging me further into a nightmare I couldn't escape, or so I thought. I just needed to hold on a little longer.