Page 87 of Bought By Santa

“Carolina?” Ruby’s voice cuts through the haze of my numbness. I look up, catching the red-rimmed gaze of my sister-in-law to be. “Oh God!” she cries as her eyes dart to Will. Her eyes are bloodshot, and I see the concern etched into her usually immaculate features. It’s a stark reminder that I’m supposed to feel something, anything, but there’s only emptiness where my heart should be.

“Hey,” I manage, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears—flat, lifeless.

“Nick told me what you wanted. I’ve brought everything.” She gestures to the suitcases behind her, her words trailing off as if she’s unsure how to navigate this conversation.

“Thank you,” I reply robotically.

“What do you want to do with—”

“Everything burns,” I say, interrupting Nick, my tone leaving no room for debate. It’s not a request; it’s an order.

There’s a flicker of surprise in Ruby’s eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want to go through—” she starts, but I cut her off.

“Everything, Ruby,” I interrupt, my voice sharper than I intend. “Willow’s gone. What’s left is just… stuff.”

The scent of burning wood lingers in the air, wrapping around me like a shroud. Ruby moves to the suitcases, opening them one by one and emptying their contents onto the cold stone floor without another word. Clothes, books, the small trinkets of Willow’s life—they all make a pile that seems so insignificant now.

I notice the attendant slinking closer, careful not to look at me as he carefully sorts through Will’s things. He makes a small pile where he places a few things such as beauty and hygiene products. “I’m sorry, but we can’t—”

“Burn them,” I insist.

“But—”

Nick clears his throat. “She said to burn it all, so you’ll fucking burn it all.”

The man nods, and I’m irrationally angry at him for making me repeat myself. But my anger dissipates as he scrambles to put all of Will’s things back in the suitcases, disappearing with them once they’re full again.

When it’s time, Nick carries Will’s body again, and I hold her hand for as long as I can.

I stand frozen, my breath catching in my throat as the attendant opens the heavy metal door of the cremator. The heat rushes out, hitting me like a wave, but I barely notice it. My eyes are locked on the dark, gaping mouth of the machine, where flames flicker inside, waiting to consume everything.

Moving forward, Nick cradles Will’s body in his arms with a gentleness that makes my chest tighten. The suitcases are already placed in the metal tray used for the cremation, so Nick carefully places Willow on top of her makeshift pyre. The tray glides out smoothly, almost silently, as if this is just another routine task for the machine.

I step closer, feeling the heat intensify as I reach out to touch her one last time. My fingers brush against her hair, and I want to scream, to tear her away from this horrible place, but I can’t. I have to let her go.

Nick looks at me, his eyes searching mine for something, maybe permission, maybe strength, but I have none to give. I nod, just once, and he gently pushes the tray into the cremator.

The heavy door of the cremation chamber clanks shut, sealing Will’s body from view. The roar of the flames is immediate, voracious, and something inside me cringes at their hunger. I stand motionless, my gaze fixed on the steel door as if I could still see her through it. There’s a smell in the air that’s not quite burning wood, not quite anything I can name—a scent that will haunt me forever.

“Carolina,” Nicklas murmurs beside me. His hand finds mine, a lifeline amidst this storm of sorrow, but my fingers are ice despite his warmth. I don’t look at him, I can’t. My eyes remain locked on where my sister lies beyond sight, being reduced to ashes while memories play hide and seek in my mind.

We’re six and twelve, running through a field dusted with snow, our laughter crystallizing in the frigid air. Willow tumbles, her small frame swallowed by a drift, and I dive afterher. We’re angels in the snow, wings flapping wildly, the cold forgotten for the joy of just being us—alive and together.

“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.” I whisper the scripture, the words spilling out like a balm over the crackle of destruction.

That verse is—was—Will’s favorite. At her insistence, we recited it at our dad’s funeral, and again at Mom’s. So it seems only right that I speak the words now.

Nick squeezes my hand, grounding me to the present, to this new… not-funeral where the verse belongs to Will herself. “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me,” he repeats, his voice low and reverent.

Ruby also echoes the verse, her head bowed.

A tear betrays me, carving a hot path down my frozen cheek. I’m a statue, an effigy of loss, yet that single tear feels like a fissure in a dam holding back an ocean of grief.

As the fire dances, my thoughts drift to Will—the gap in our years never mattered to us. She was more than a little sister; she was my confidante, my charge, my reason to keep going when life got too tough to bear. And now, with her ashes and these flames, I’m unmoored, adrift in a sea of grief I can’t even begin to navigate.

“Goodbye, my little angel,” I breathe out, my voice catching on a sob I refuse to release. I imagine her bright eyes, her smile that never dimmed, not after the accident, not ever. She was pure light—a light that’s now fading into embers and smoke.

I know I have to find a way to live in a world without her. But not today. Today, I burn with her.

---