I stop talking because the next part is the hardest.

Kerry must feel the shift because suddenly, she’s closer, her knee brushing mine. A silent reminder that I’m not alone. That I’m not lost in this moment.

“I got the call two hours later.” I clench my jaw.

Kerry breathes in deep, but I don’t look at her. I can’t. Instead, I stare at my father’s tombstone, at the name Jeremiah Grimes, and force myself to relive the moment that shattered me.

“I was plating a dish. Smiling, laughing, feeling on top of the fucking world when my phone rang. Hudson’s name flashed across the screen.” I swallow hard. “I almost ignored it. But something told me to pick up.”

I blink, and suddenly I’m back there. Back in that kitchen. Back in that moment. Back in my own body, watching as the world as I knew it slipped through my fingers.

“Vic… it’s bad. You need to get here.” Hudson said, panicking over the phone.

The terror in my brother’s voice punched me straight in the gut, and my mother’s cries in the background, screaming out my dad’s name, nearly shook me to my core.

“What’s going on?” My voice is sharp, clipped, and frantic. “Why’s Mom crying? Where’s Dad? Is he okay?”

Hudson’s breath stutters. Pauses. Then he said the words that rip my fucking soul in half.

“He’s gone, Vic. Dad is gone.”

Gone? No. My stomach plummets, and the floor beneath me vanishes.

“What?” My voice cracks. “Don’t say that. Don’t fucking say that. How? Where are you?”

“Hurry, Vic.” Hudson’s voice is suddenly more urgent, pleading. “Tiara and the girls still have a chance, but they’re—”

A violent chill shoots through my body. The girls? Tiara? My mind trips. My lungs seizes. My throat tightens.

“What do you mean, the girls? My girls?” I rasp, my pulse roaring in my ears. “What does Tiara have to do with this? Hud, where’s my wife? Where are my daughters?” My fingers dig into the phone. “Hudson,” I growl, my voice splintering. “Tell me what’s going on!”

“They were all in the car, Vic.” His voice breaks, but not before sending a knife to my chest.

“Vic…” Hudson exhales, voice trembling. “Just get here. Tiara’s still fighting but…” His voice drops to a whisper. “It’s bad. Just get here. We need you. They need you.”

I don’t remember the drive. All I remember are the sirens, flashing lights, and smoke curling in the night air. I slam the car into park and jump out, my body moving on autopilot, but when I see the body bag and my mom crying out, I freeze.

My black SUV sits crumpled, twisted like scrap metal, with glass littering the pavement.

Hudson sprints toward me with red eyes and a tear-streaked face. “Vic—”