How Does 'Ambiguous Loss: Learning To Live With Unresolved Grief' Ending Explained?

A car accident left my mother-in-law bleeding and desperate for help, but her plea was heartlessly rejected by her own daughter. Even on her deathbed, my mother-in-law's only wish was to see her one last time. However, she was busy staying by her first love's side, euthanizing his dog. "You better stay as far away from me as possible! My mom's perfectly fine!" she shouted before hanging up on me, only to spend the night tangled with her first love in a hotel room. It was not until after the cremation ceremony that she returned—carrying a birthday cake. What greeted her was not a celebration but her mother's funeral. She cried, sobbing uncontrollably, "Mom! You haven't even celebrated my birthday yet! Don't leave me!" I stared at her and pulled the divorce papers from my bag. How fitting. This time, I was leaving too.

Ever since birth, life has not been fair to Hazel, she met Andrea in college, and it was quite the wind whirl romance; her past came knocking with ugly fingers, and they had to part ways; Hazel left Andrea with a broken heart and a secret of her own.

My billionaire parents, Gerald Voight and Diane Westwood, were afraid my sister, Claire Voight, and I would grow spoiled if we stayed in luxury, so they pulled us out of the city's best prep school and sent us to study in a remote mountain town. On the way there, locals knocked us unconscious and sold us into a brutal trafficking ring. I found a way to contact my parents and begged them to save us, but they said I was lying. "Being sent to the mountains means you were trafficked? You really were raised too soft. You can't handle even a little hardship." "Kids there get into college by fighting their way out. Learn to do the same. Stop depending on us for everything." They blocked my sister's number and mine before I could explain. To survive, my sister and I escaped after three days without food, but when we tried to buy tickets out of the county, the ticket clerk refused us. "Sorry, miss. We've received instructions from the Voight family. You're not allowed to leave the county by any method, unless it's for college." We couldn't get away. The traffickers dragged us back. Later, my sister died from the tortures in a filthy basement. I was luckier. At my last breath, undercover anti-trafficking officers found me. I held my sister's ashes and fled to the farthest city from home. Then our cousin, Jenna Reed, posted a photo from her overseas school. [Uncle Gerald and Aunt Diane are just like my real parents. They give me the best love.] She tagged me on purpose, the way she always did, hoping I'd be provoked into questioning her. This time, I only liked the post and replied: [If you're willing, they can be your real parents. You can be their only daughter.]

Eight years into marriage, and Fabian's mom finally gave me and my son her stamp of approval. Invited us to spend Christmas in his hometown. My son—Luca--and I were hyped. We picked out a gift for her and hit the road with Fabian. Right as we pulled into the village, Fabian's old friend called—crying, claiming she'd crashed her car. Fabian panicked. Left me and Luca in some random snowy mountain town and sped off. It was pitch black. Snow dumping down. Then Luca screamed. He'd stepped on a trap and dropped into a pit. Blood everywhere. I called Fabian, totally panicked. He goes, "Stella, Roxana's in a wreck. I need to be with her. Stop making everything a competition." Then he hung up. Blocked me. No time to fall apart. I wiped my face, called an ambulance. Too far out. By the time they got there, Luca was already gone. Cold. Broken. Gone. I held him and screamed until my lungs gave out. Meanwhile, Roxana's posting in the social media. All smiles in Fabian's arms. His face soft. Loving. [Highway jam turned into truth or dare. One word—"accident"—and he came flying. So happy.] I exhaled. Tagged Fabian. [Let's get a divorce.] This joke of a marriage should've ended forever ago.

We had been together for seven years, yet my CEO boyfriend canceled our marriage registration 99 times. The first time, his newly hired assistant got locked in the office. He rushed back to deal with it, leaving me standing outside the County Clerk's Office until midnight. The fifth time, we were about to sign when he heard his assistant had been harassed by a client. He left me there and ran off to "rescue" her, while I was left behind, humiliated and laughed at by others. After that, no matter when we scheduled our registration, there was always some emergency with his assistant that needed him more. Eventually, I gave up completely and chose to leave. However, after I moved away from Twilight City, he spent the next five years desperately searching for me, like a man who had finally lost his mind.

My son is dead. He dies in a cramped toilet cubicle after having his skull smashed in. My husband, the school principal, arrives on the scene. The first thing he does is carry his true love's son, the one who killed my son, into an ambulance. They hurriedly leave. Before his death, my son tells me, "Don't cry, Mom. I'm not sad that Dad doesn't believe me. It's enough that you do…" I call Joshua Tucker during my son's funeral. He roars angrily, "Kenny had to get two stitches on his arm because of your son! If you keep pestering me like this, I'll beat him up when I get home!" My son? I look at the gaping hole in my son's head, the one that won't ever bleed anymore. I shut my eyes. Yes, he's my son. My son is dead, Joshua. From now on, there's nothing between us.