Mock Funeral: Deep Love Cannot Overcome All Difficulties

Over Memorial Day weekend, my daughter's dying wish was for her mom, Jane, to attend her staged funeral.

But Jane has no love for me or our girl.

In exchange, I let Jane's high school sweetheart, Winston Yeates, truly have her, just this once.

Jane was all in.

But come funeral day, Jane was nowhere to be found, and by evening, my daughter died heartbroken.

I spent the entire night clutching her urn, finally breaking down and calling Jane for answers.

The moment she picked up, her old flame's voice hit me, "Super busy right now... hit me up later."

I could clearly hear the sound of humping in the background.

She didn't hang up, leaving me to overhear hours of sighs and moans.

I took care of the funeral myself, swallowed my tears, packed up, and walked out.

Yet Jane had the nerve to call back, sobbing, pleading with me to stay.

1

After I saw everyone leave, I found myself staring at my daughter's tombstone, and I dialed Jane once more.

I needed to know why she skipped out on the funeral.

Why abandon our daughter to hook up with her ex?

Couldn't she have held off her rendezvous, just long enough for our daughter to pass without regrets?

...

My head was bursting with questions, but I was silenced by a cold voice on the other end.

"Mike, can you drop it already? It was just one missed date. It's not like she's gone for good. Why the drama with a mock funeral? Emily was coddled by you, and it's jinxed us!"

I was about to retort when another sleepy, Winston Yeates' lazy voice chimed in first.

"Jane, why the early wake-up?"

At that, last night's moans replayed in my ears.

I was suddenly speechless, the words lodged painfully in my throat.

Emily's heartfelt desire was for her mom to be at her mock funeral before she passed.

Yet her mom was too busy making a new baby with another man, effectively replacing her.

The rest of the conversation was lost to me, drowned out by a faint static buzz.

Probably Jane muffled the phone, thinking I could still hear them.

When Jane spoke again, her usual bravado was gone, replaced by a rare flicker of guilt.

"Got caught up with something at work yesterday, couldn't make it. I'll drop by with a gift for Emily once things settle down."

Then she hung up before I could get a word in.

That left me with a bitter chuckle.

Isn't that just typical? Our marriage always played by her rules, my needs and words forever in the backseat.

Jane throwing everything away for Winston wasn't a shock.

But her skipping our daughter's funeral to be with him? That I never saw coming.

Holding onto a faint hope, I had expected at least a sliver of remorse from Jane on that call.

None came.

Her earlier apology wasn't for Emily—it was out of fear I knew about her fling with Winston.

It felt like a slap across my face, the sting fierce and burning.

My fingers shaking, I typed out a message.

[Jane, let's get a divorce.]