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.]

I sent it, and then immediately pulled it back.

It almost slipped my mind—we never did get that marriage license.

I headed back from the cemetery to what she calls home, really just a pit stop for Jane.

She's glued to Winston, only gracing our home with her presence if I plead enough for her to see Emily, just for a night.

By morning, she's out, treating us like the plague.

I cleaned Emily's room meticulously, wiping away the dust and setting everything in order.

Then I tossed out all of Jane's things and told her assistant to haul them off.

But the assistant never showed—Jane did.

Winston tagged along, looking worse for wear.

"Mike, what's the matter with you? Kicking all my stuff to the curb—are you out of your mind?"

She strutted in on spindly heels, brows knitted but unable to mask the radiance of her face or the tell-tale hickeys that spoke of last night's indulgences.

At that moment, I was done talking.

Emily's gone, why didn't you show up, do you even consider us family... Seeing those love bites, I suddenly didn't want to know anything more.

This condo was supposed to be our marital nest. Initially, I wanted Jane's name alongside mine on the deed, but she outright refused, content with a ceremony, no legal strings attached.

Back then, it broke my heart, and left me feeling insecure, begging her to reconsider.

Now, it seems not tying the knot legally spared me a world of hassle.

Jane thought I was just having a tantrum, given my deep love for her.

She snapped, "It was just a mock funeral, right? Not real. We can always do another one tomorrow."

"No need."

With Emily gone, nothing matters anymore.

Winston, ever the charmer, clasped Jane's arm, casting me a defiant glance.

"Bro, had another heart episode last night. Jane didn't mean to bail—it's on me, this broken-down body always dragging you down."

His face flushed, nowhere near that of a man battling heart disease.

Jane soothed Winston with gentle words, "Winston, it's not your fault, you're ill, it's only right that I look after you first."

I laughed bitterly, "He's sick, sure, but wasn't Emily too? Ever as devoted to her as you are to him? You couldn't even spare her one last look!"

Emily was so young, grappling with the sheer terror of her impending death, courageous enough to stage her own funeral.

It crushed me to hear why—why she wouldn't use the remaining time to do something delightful.

She hoped the mock funeral would bring her busy mom to her side, so she could see her mom with her eyes, if only for a moment.

But even that modest wish was too much for Jane to honor.

Just how busy can one be, to always be at Winston's side?

Facing this heartless woman, it felt like my heart had sprung a leak, the love seeping out grain by grain.

Yet, Jane remained indifferent, "What, thinking I should be guilty about Emily now?"

"Remember, you were the one who pleaded with me—that's the only reason I agreed to have her."

Jane and I ended up married because of Emily.

Five years back, after Mike left her to go abroad, a night of drinking led to a mistake.

Jane dismissed it as a one-night stand, and told me not to make a big deal of it, so I pocketed the engagement ring I had been carrying.

Her pregnancy was unexpected, and though Jane wanted to abort, the doctor warned her frail health made abortion risky and might prevent future pregnancies.

I begged her on my knees, and only then did she agree to keep our child.

I had hoped that Emily, being her flesh and blood, would mean something to her.

Clearly, she was colder than I ever imagined.

I had no more words for her, just one cold farewell.

"This place is mine, just leave."

I threw the door wide open, my face set in a grim resolve.

Jane stared back, clearly stunned.

For once, I didn't blow up about Winston or dissolve into desperate pleas for her forgiveness mid-fight.

That's been our pattern for the past five years, every damn time.

She'd even force me to record videos apologizing, just to play them back to me as a reminder of my supposed shame, proving her eternal rightness.

But I'm over it now. Done.

Maybe I was seeing things, but I swear I caught a glimmer of panic in Jane's eyes.

Breaking character, her voice softened, "Look, I got held up that day. I'll swing by and check on Emily soon, okay? Let's drop it."

I snorted.

If she'd bothered to even check in on Emily once or cared to ask how she was, she wouldn't be spouting such nonsense.

It's been nearly ten months since she last saw Emily, on New Year's Eve I begged her to come home.

"Drop it?" I sneered, "Who's holding it here? Take another step and I'm calling security."

Jane seemed knocked off her script by my sharp tone, standing there gaping.

A moment later, she went white as a sheet and slapped me, "Mike, how can you treat me this way!"

Really, how had I treated her?

We grew up together, our families intertwined, close as can be—yet somehow that wasn't enough.

Tasked with carrying our families' hopes, I went abroad for college.

With Jane constantly on my mind, I compressed a two-year exchange program into an intense eighteen months. Even when I fell ill and ended up in the hospital, I pushed through my coursework, nearly giving myself pneumonia from the stress.

During that time, I made sure to fly back every three months to spend time with Jane, worried that any longer apart might lead her to drift away from me.

Little did I know that Winston's sudden appearance would throw everything off course.

She accused me of harboring too much ambition, suggesting that one departure for education meant I'd easily leave again.

But I never truly left her; I even ran her family business meticulously and kept it still as she had no interest in it.

My love was steadfast; I proved it at every turn.

I tolerated her running back to Winston time and again, our marriage, unlicensed and hollow, merely a façade for her indiscretions...

Yet even my tolerance wasn't enough to fulfill Emily's final wish.

When Emily passed, it felt like my heart went with her, and all my former vitality extinguished.

I sighed deeply, my expression solemn, "You know full well how I've treated you."

"We didn't bother with a marriage license, there's no property to fight over, and I'll make sure my assistant hands over your parents' business to you."

"Just go, Jane. And let's not go through this again."

She froze, the gravity of my words sinking in.

She hadn't expected the man who once clung to her side to now push her away so decisively.

It dawned on her that walking out this time might mean never coming back.

A trace of desperation flickered in Jane's eyes, her instincts battling her pride, yet her words still rang with condescension.

"Mike, I've told you time and again, that Winston and I are just friends. I'm looking after him because he's sick."

"Really? Getting jealous over nothing? Why do you always think the worst of me, never trust me?"

Normally, such blatant gaslighting would've set me off.

But this time, I felt absolutely nothing.

She was still lying, even now.

I closed my eyes, suddenly unsure why I'd ever fallen for her.

This love lasted thirty years.

Thirty years is a lifetime of fidelity on my part, managing our businesses, and playing the fool whenever she stepped out.

I never demanded much, just some semblance of respect, to be seen as a man rather than a fool.

But even that was asking too much from her.

I played the recording from that night, their voices filling the room with uncomfortable truths.

Jane froze, her complexion turning ghostly, then in a fit of rage, she grabbed my phone and hurled it to the ground.

"You recorded that..." she gasped, "How could you do this to me!"

She swung at me again.

But this time, I blocked her.

Once, I would've endured endless indignities for her love.

Not anymore.

"Jane, the security's on their way. Try to keep some dignity."

I was firm, asking her to leave once more.

Winston, eager to avoid a bigger scene, tugged at her arm.

"Let's head out, Jane. I get that Emily was faking her illness, but competing with her over you was wrong. It's just led to more trouble."

Faking her illness?

My brain stalled, struggling to process.

Before I knew it, my fist had met Winston's stupid face.