The day our son died, Princeton was at the airport, picking up the love of his life as she returned from abroad. Meanwhile, I was at the hospital, fighting late-stage brain cancer, inching closer to death. The unyielding pain of my condition was relentless, yet at that very moment, Princeton was out to dinner with her.

In these last few months of my life, I continued to act as his devoted and gentle wife, watching him leave early and return late each day, always in a hurry to be with someone else. It wasn't until after I was gone that he finally read the journal I had left for him, and he completely broke down.

At the funeral, Princeton never appeared. Our lively little boy had been reduced to a handful of ash, buried deep in the cold, damp earth. The guests, mainly attending out of obligation to the Foster family's name, paid little attention to me, whispering among themselves.

"At such an important event, where is Princeton? I thought he cared about his family."

"Oh, please. A wife who married into the family and an adopted child? As soon as Zuri came back, he rushed straight to the airport to fetch her."

"If Zuri hadn't left the country back then, Tiana wouldn't be in the picture. Now that she's returned, I'm sure Princeton will change course."

Their mockery cut through me like a dull blade, leaving a lingering sting. In that moment, I felt like a fool, constantly reminded that I was never the one Princeton truly loved. I could never replace Zuri in his heart.

I carefully wiped Skyla's gravestone, whispering to her not to be afraid, assuring her that I would soon join her. The tumor in my brain made it clear that my time was running out.

Pounding headaches blurred my vision as memories surfaced, finally settling on Princeton's indifferent face. After Zuri left the country, his family pressured him to marry, which is how he ended up with me—a convenient match, not one born of love. I was compliant and gentle, and that was enough.

For three years, I took meticulous care of him, slowly melting the ice around his heart. We finally began to behave like a normal couple, sharing meals, taking Skyla for walks in the park. But all of it was an illusion, a cruel joke played by fate.

Yesterday, my brain tumor flared up, and I collapsed. Skyla ran outside to find her father, hoping he would save me, but she was struck by a speeding car. I had thought about telling Princeton about the tumor, but instead received a text from an unknown number: "Princeton will come back to me." Attached was a photograph of him driving, his expression relaxed and carefree. The sight of his joyful smile pierced my heart like a dagger.

When I needed him the most, my husband was with another woman.

That evening, I sat on the couch, holding Skyla's photo, my eyes fixed on the hallway. It wasn’t until midnight that the door finally creaked open, and Princeton Foster stepped in, switching on the light. Our eyes met, and his gaze fell on the photo in my hands. His voice was cold and sharp as he remarked, "You didn’t take care of her when you had the chance. Why start mourning now?"

"How could you let such a small child wander off alone?" His words hit me hard, a lump forming in my throat. While our daughter was being laid to rest, Princeton had been busy picking up his muse, Zuri Morgan, from the airport, not returning until late that night. I wanted to confront him, but the words stuck in my throat, afraid to come out.

After a long pause, I looked down, my voice rasping, "It’s my fault. I failed Skyla." I had been deluded by three years of marriage, thinking I could provide Skyla with a loving home. Sensing the harshness of his earlier words, he softened his tone slightly.

"If you still want a child, we can always adopt another one." My grip on the photo tightened. How could he say that? To him, Skyla seemed like a toy, something that could be easily replaced. Had he forgotten how sweetly she called him dad? His heart was so cold; neither I nor Skyla could ever warm it.

I had been too hopeful, too eager to create a happy family with him. Skyla and I were both children abandoned by our families. She was left because of her heart condition, left at the orphanage’s doorstep. In her, I saw a reflection of my own childhood, and that's why I adopted her.

I wanted to protect her forever, to let her grow up without worries. But reality struck me hard. A three-year-old, hit by a car and thrown over thirty feet, her body bloodied, like a kite with its string cut, forever out of reach.

When I didn’t reply, he sat beside me, beginning to say something but then stopping, only to eventually get up and leave. His coat, left on the sofa, carried the familiar scent of coffee and cedar—Zuri Morgan’s favorite fragrance.

The next day, as I was getting his coat ready for dry cleaning, I stumbled upon a phone in the pocket that wasn’t Princeton's. Just then, it rang.

I frowned and picked it up. A woman's voice on the other end said, "Is this Tiana? It's Zuri."

I felt my grip on the phone tighten instinctively.

She continued, "Don't misunderstand, I accidentally left my phone in Princeton's pocket yesterday."

"Could you do me a favor and drop the phone off at Princeton's office? Thanks."

She quickly rattled off a few sentences without giving me a chance to reply. While she seemed to be apologizing, every word reminded me of the special connection she had with Princeton.

When I got to the office, I saw through the glass wall that Zuri was helping Princeton adjust his tie. They stood close, with Zuri looking at Princeton tenderly, as if doting on him.

I had once wanted to help him with his tie too. What did he say back then? He said that a simple task like that was something the staff could handle.

Yet now, he was clearly enjoying it. It wasn't that he didn't like the gesture; he just didn't want it from me.

I didn’t want to stay and endure any more humiliation. I just wanted to get away.

But Zuri called out, "Oh, Tiana, you’re here. Thanks for going out of your way."

I handed over the phone, trying to act nonchalant, "No problem at all."

As I turned to leave, the feelings of bitterness and sadness only grew stronger with each step.