Jamison turned and left the room first. Ivy glanced at her father, Danny, still sitting on the couch. She walked over and gently encouraged him. “Dad, you should get some rest. Your health comes first.”

“Alright.” Danny was always quick to listen to his daughter. With Ivy’s help, he stood up and made his way to the cot beside the main bed.

In the corner, Ivy’s grandmother was still awake. Every time she thought about her grandson’s death and her daughter’s shattered mind, a sharp pain tore through her chest. She couldn’t understand how a family that once seemed so stable could fall apart so quickly. The suddenness of it all left her reeling, unable to accept the reality.

“Micah… Is he buried yet?” she finally asked, her voice frail.

Ivy turned, realizing the question was meant for her. “The funeral is on Saturday, Grandma. The day after tomorrow.”

She could sense what her grandmother was worrying about, so she quickly tried to offer comfort. “Take care of yourself these next two days. When the time comes, you’ll be able to see him one last time. Micah grew up beside you–he loved and respected you more than anyone. He wouldn’t want to see you suffering like this.”

Ivy knew, from the times she spent with Micah, how close he and his grandmother had always been.

Adela turned to look at her. Her expression was cool, her words tinged with a bitter edge. “You’re gentle with him now. But did you ever think of this day, back when you two were always at each other’s throats?”

Ivy pressed her lips together and paused before answering. “If I’d known this day was coming, I would have been even harsher. I would’ve forced Jamison to send him overseas, no matter how much he hated us for it. At least he’d still be alive.”

Adela’s eyes widened in surprise. She stared at Ivy’s resolute face, her mouth opening as if to speak, but no words came. Silence fell between them. Regret weighed on her heart. She wished she hadn’t indulged her grandson so much; wished she’d pushed her daughter harder to make the difficult choices. It was true–one wrong step had led to another, and together, they had slowly handed Micah over to death.

When Ivy saw her grandmother close her eyes, she quietly tucked the blanket around her, then called in the nurse to keep watch. Only then did she leave the room.

Half an hour later, Jamison returned. He and Ivy lay down on the hospital bed together. Wave after wave of crisis had left them both with so much to say, but neither knew where to begin. In the end, they simply held each other tightly, finding solace in each other’s arms.

Micah’s funeral was a solemn affair, organized by the Ludwig family. Carla arrived early that morning. Her mind had been fractured ever since the tragedy. According to her caregivers, she often spent sleepless nights staring into space or mumbling to herself. But today, as she looked at Micah’s portrait in the chapel, it was as if her muddled memories snapped into focus. Tears fell instantly as a moment of clarity washed over her.

Adela, now confined to a wheelchair, came as well. Two days ago, Jamison’s harsh words had jolted her out of her apathy. Fearing that if she didn’t take care of herself, no one would be left to look after her broken daughter, she’d finally cooperated with the doctors, even finding a new sense of resolve.

Spotting Carla, Adela wheeled herself over and gently took her daughter’s hand. “Carla, sweetheart? It’s Mom.”

Carla turned to her, confusion clouding her eyes. “Who are you?”

The question stunned Adela into silence. She had visited her daughter just yesterday, but today, Carla didn’t recognize her at all.

“Carla, Mom came to see you,” Davina, her younger sister, explained softly.

For a moment, Carla was lost in thought. “Mom…” Then she glanced back at Micah’s portrait. “Who’s that? He looks like my son. Seeing him makes me want to cry.”

Neither Davina nor Adela answered. If Carla no longer remembered that her own son had died, there was no point in reminding her.

Ivy didn’t attend the funeral in person. Instead, she sat in her car at a distance, watching the proceedings through the rain-streaked window. Inside, Jamison and Thad greeted guests one after another, busy from morning until noon as mourners came to pay their respects.

Just as the ceremony was drawing to a close, several black cars pulled up outside the funeral home, each adorned with somber black wreaths–a clear sign they were there for the burial. From her vantage point, Ivy recognized the newcomers as relatives from the Shepherd family. Her heart sank. She quickly called Jamison.

“A bunch of people just arrived—they’re Shepherd family relatives. Looks like they’re here to make trouble.”

As soon as Jamison got Ivy’s warning, he strode outside. Sure enough, he spotted the group heading straight for the chapel. The room was still filled with guests. Not wanting to air family grievances in public–or dishonor his late nephew–Jamison squared his shoulders and intercepted the newcomers at the door.

“What are you doing here? If you’ve come to pay your respects, we appreciate it. But if you have any other intentions, I strongly suggest you think twice,” he said, his voice cold and steady.

He couldn’t help sounding harsh. Relations between the families had already soured in recent days, especially since Carla’s return from the psychiatric ward. The Shepherds had been stirring up trouble at their house every day, and Jamison had been forced to post security at his sister’s home.

The Shepherds’ spokesman glared at Jamison, his tone even icier. “What’s wrong, Jamison? Feeling guilty? Afraid we’ll walk in there and expose your lies to everyone?”

Ivy had planned to wait in the car and stay out of it. But when she saw the Shepherds squaring off with Jamison–despite Boyd Ludwig, Naylor, and two other Ludwig relatives standing with him–the numbers were clearly against them. Anxious for her husband’s safety, Ivy didn’t hesitate. She pushed the car door open and hurried out.