I strode forward to snatch them back, but Clinton stepped in front of Gemma.
“Gemma likes them, so I’m giving them to her,” he said dismissively. “I’ll just have Ivy make another pair when she’s back. They’re just clay. What’s the big deal?”
To him, they were nothing more than lumps of clay, disposable at a whim. But to me, they were irreplaceable tokens of Ivy’s love and the only tangible proof of her presence left in this world.
“Are y
you serious? Make another pair? How is she going to do that when she’s gone?”
“Are you
even human? Where’s your conscience? Our daughter’s ashes are right in front of you, and yet you don’t believe it! When your colleague called to confirm, you thought it was all an act I staged!
“Ivy’s dead! She died because you were too busy watching a soccer match with Gemma to answer your phone. She died in the three days you turned off your phone and disappeared!
“Clinton, if you cared even just a little, go to the hospital right now and take a look at her death certificate. See for yourself whether I’m telling the truth or not.
“When Ivy was dying, she kept begging to see you. And what did you do? You chose your lover and let Ivy die from an allergic reaction! You’re not fit to call yourself her father!”
My voice cracked as I poured out every ounce of anger and grief.
For a moment, Clinton seemed shaken. He frowned and asked, “Are you telling the truth?”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Even now, you refuse to believe me.”
