The Daughter in the Shadows (by Una Norris) novel Chapter 130

Chapter 130 Stop Talking, Run!

Yunice muttered to herself, People these days really don’t care about the dead anymore.

She didn’t bother asking why Wyatt was there; it wasn’t not like he was going to fight her for her dad’s ashes.

Finished

So she didn’t avoid him while digging. The surface slate had already been pried up, and now Yunice was shoveling through the soil beneath.

Wyatt sat nearby, just watching, not helping at all. “Digging up your dad’s grave? What a dutiful daughter.

Yunice didn’t respond to the jab, focused entirely on digging.

After a moment, Wyatt added lazily. “He’s already dead. It’s just a pile of ashes. Is it really worth all this?”

Ashes were just inorganic dust–good for fertilizer maybe, but not much else.

“If someone can be controlled by a pile of dust, they were never going to amount to much anyway,” he scoffed,

Yunice kept working, unfazed by his ridicule.

People valued different things; it all came down to perspective.

blink at death.

Wyatt had clawed his way

way to the top, didn’t even b

Yunice thought. How could he understand what it meant to hold onto ashes?

“I’m not being controlled by a pile of dust,” Yunice said. “I just want something to remember him by,”

“Real death doesn’t come when the heart stops or the breath ends,” she added. “It’s when no one remembers you anymore, I won’t forget my dad. The ashes are him. His belongings are him. That bracelet of agarwood beads on your wrist–that’s him too. Every object carries a memory of him and me. It matters.”

She paused, then added, “But all that stuff is external. Even if I lost it, he wouldn’t blame me.”

Wyatt glanced down at the bracelet on his wrist and sneered. “Lost it? Then what happens to your precious memories?

“How could they be gone?” Yunice looked up, calm and relaxed. “All I have to do is look in the mirror. The greatest gift my dad gave me is myself. As long as I take care of myself, those memories are still alive.”

Wyant looked like her words caught him off guard. After a beat, he let out a dry, mocking chuckle.

Yunice was used to his smug, self–centered attitude. The urn wasn’t buried deep. When her shovel hit wood, she crouched down and started scooping dirt with her hands.

Wyatt still didn’t lift a finger.

The cemetery was dead quiet, except for the occasional buzz of insects from the forest. Yunice kept digging, then took a moment to glance over at him.

Wyatt was sitting on the grave next to her father’s, leaning back against the headstone. One long leg bent, foot resting on the stone path.

Moonlight fell softly over him, casting a cool, lonely glow

After all done tan lines of sentimental namence the snouted earlier weren‘) foolina anvene

3:32 PM

The sound made Wyatt turn. He watched as she slipped a hand through the narrow gap and pulled out the urn.

Right then, several flashlight beams cut through the night sky in jerky, crisscrossing paths. Voices echoed faintly in the distance.

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