He Stepped on My Ashes After I was Gone novel Chapter 4

Christopher Moore had been my childhood friend. We’d grown up together, sharing countless secrets. When I met William Miller in college, the first day we started dating, I couldn't wait to tell Christopher the news.

Back then, instead of being happy, Christopher looked at me with a complex expression.

“Do you really like him? You’re not just fooling around?”

I replied without hesitation, “I love him. The kind of love where I want to spend my life with him.”

That day, Christopher—normally chatty—suddenly became uncharacteristically quiet.

Not long after, he applied to study abroad, and as William and I faced pressure from our families, Christopher and I gradually lost touch.

Then William’s mother passed away, and his love turned to nothing but hatred for me. Christopher came back from abroad.

He asked me if I wanted to leave with him.

His eyes were determined, filled with urgency.

But I couldn’t leave William, who had become a shell of his former self. I turned down Christopher’s offer.

He was furious with me for being so weak, and not long after, he left for another two years abroad.

During those years, my love for William slowly eroded, worn down by his relentless hatred.

I wanted to leave him.

When Christopher heard, he flew back without a second thought.

But before I could leave, while paying my final respects at William’s mother’s grave, I overheard Isabella cursing at her tombstone.

It was then I learned the truth—that night William’s mother had called me, Isabella had visited her, begging her to step aside and let her be with William.

When William’s mother realized Isabella’s intentions, she was so furious that she had a heart attack. Isabella stole her medication and deliberately delayed calling for help, leading to her death.

Overcome with shock, I rushed to tell William the truth—only to remember he had long since blocked me.

He had called me vicious, and said he didn’t want anything more to do with me.

With no other option, I decided to tell him in person, but on my way to meet him, I got into a car accident.

I followed him to the crematorium. Even though I was just a ghost now, the place still creeped me out, especially at this hour.

William, as if he couldn’t feel the chill in the air, banged hard on the crematorium door.

"Where are Olivia Brown’s ashes? I want them back."

The staff member, taken aback, stared at him. Recognition flickered in his eyes—he knew this was the same man who had scattered my ashes.

"Mr. Miller, I’m sorry, but Ms. Brown’s ashes were blown away by the wind. We couldn’t recover them."

I remember that moment all too well—he hadn’t just scattered them; he crushed them beneath his feet.

And now he wanted them back?

What, so he could humiliate me all over again? Maybe he planned to scatter my ashes at his mother’s grave, rubbing it in one last time.

The tension in the air thickened as William grabbed the guy by the collar, his voice dangerous and low.

"Don’t lie to me. There was no wind that day. You’ve got three minutes to hand over Olivia Brown’s ashes."