In the car, Jarrod's arm continued to bleed because of Nicole's bite, yet he seemed not to care about the wound.

Amidst the howling wind and rain, the car sped toward the funeral parlor.

Nicole remained motionless, almost lifeless. Curled up in a corner, she was on the edge. If Jarrod moved any closer to her, it could set her off into a frenzy of self-harm and vomiting blood.

Jarrod kept his distance, fearing to provoke her further.

Those past few minutes felt like an eternity to him. He pondered what could have happened if Nicole had more strength or a better angle to kill herself by dashing toward the concrete flower bed.

He could have lost her forever. This thought alone was enough to shatter him.

Inside the funeral parlor, morticians were frantically preparing Wesson's body.

Nicole refused to sit. She crouched by the door to the embalming room, like an abandoned puppy, her eyes fixed on the door.

Inside was her father. He was the man who had once carried her on his shoulders under the sun and shielded her from the rain, ensuring she never felt a single drop.

With him, there had always been a ray of hope. But now, her world had fallen apart. The cornerstone of her family was gone.

Finally, the door to the embalming room opened, and Nicole, overwhelmed by grief, crawled inside on her knees.

Jarrod, witnessing her fragile state, hesitated to intervene, fearing she might unravel further.

Beneath a white cloth lay Wesson, silent and still.

Nicole, her hands quaking, barely found the voice to ask the staff, "Can you... Can you lift it up?"

As Jarrod moved to assist, Nicole's voice, seething with resentment, stopped him, “Don't touch him!"

Her words carried all the strength she had left.

Nicole's eyes were filled with despair. "Don't touch him, and don't you dare come near my father. Please!”

Jarrod, feeling a rush of anger, was about to respond when his phone vibrated disruptively.

Without a word, he stepped outside to take the call.

Inside, the staff unveiled Wesson's face.