Rachel’s face twisted into a mocking smile. Her words were even more vicious than her expression—each one like a blade.

Looking at her, the hatred in my chest surged like a tidal wave, threatening to drown me. I wanted to strangle her. I wanted her to pay for our daughter’s life—with blood.

But just then, my daughter’s soft, tender voice echoed in my ears, fragile and warm, like a fading dream.

"Dad, is Mom busy again today? I haven’t seen her in so long…"

"Dad, I’ll tell you a secret… Mom is the prettiest mommy in all of kindergarten!"

"Dad, I miss Mom so much."

Then came that final memory—her voice weak and trembling as I carried her into the taxi, her little arms wrapped tightly around my neck.

“Dad, don’t be mad at Mom, okay? It doesn’t hurt… really… it doesn’t hurt at all…”

My throat tightened. I forced down the rage, turned away from Rachel, and quietly walked to the bed, sitting down without sparing her another glance.

But she wasn’t done. Anger flared in her eyes as she stomped forward, grabbed my wrist, and threw me onto the bed. She straddled me, gripping my wrists above my head.

“What’s with the act, huh? Didn’t you beg my parents to drag me back? What, now you’re sulking because I came?”

She leaned down, trying to kiss me. I turned my head, but she pressed harder. Left with no choice, I bit her lip—hard.

She gasped in pain and recoiled, sitting up as fury twisted her face.

“Ethan, have you lost your mind?! What the hell are you playing at now?”

She laughed coldly and launched into her tirade.

“You really think I don’t see through you? You used that little appendicitis scare to force me to the hospital. Then, when it didn’t work, you cried to my parents to pressure me to come back. And now, you're pulling this distant, cold act? What—trying to win sympathy?”

“You left her—your daughter—alone in the hospital after surgery. She’s three! What kind of father does that? And now you’re playing victim? She probably knew what kind of father you were before she died—"

“I said…” I cut her off, my voice icy and low, “…the child is dead.”

She froze.

For a second, something flickered in her eyes. But then her lips curled into a sneer.

“You really are something, Ethan. You’ll say anything to gain pity, won’t you?”

With that, she stood and walked toward the door. Just before stepping out, she turned and spoke without emotion.

“You rejected me yourself. Don’t run crying to my parents again about how badly I treat you. If you do, I’ll only find you more pathetic.”

The door shut behind her.

Silence returned to the room like a heavy fog.

I wiped my lips over and over again, as if scrubbing could erase the memory of her touch—the scent of her.

We had once been in love.

I still remember her 18th birthday. She wore a soft blue princess dress, her cheeks flushed as she stood in front of me.

“Ethan,” she said nervously, “can I like you?”

Her eyes couldn’t meet mine. They were shy and full of light.

My heart melted. I nodded before I even realized I had.

From then on, we were inseparable—four years of youth shared side by side. I cherished her like a treasure, and she gave me her heart in return.

Or so I thought.

Then, four years later, her father sat us down.

“You two have been together long enough,” he said, beaming. “You’re of age now. It’s time. We’ll pick a good day for the wedding.”

Everything changed after that.

Rachel turned cold. Her affection vanished overnight, replaced by impatience, then disgust. I didn’t understand what I had done wrong. And she never offered an explanation.

A year into the marriage, she became pregnant.

But after our daughter was born, she drifted further away—staying out late, refusing to come home. She didn’t even bother hiding it anymore when she took her so-called first love, Luke, out in public, arm-in-arm, letting the whole world see how little she cared.

It wasn’t that I never questioned her—I did. But every time, Rachel met my words with that same cold, scornful expression, a faint smirk curling her lips.

“I gave you what you wanted, didn’t I? The title of the Sinclair family’s son-in-law… even a child. What more is there to fuss about?”

“Ethan, do you know something? The more you demand answers, the more disgusted I feel.”

That was the last time I asked anything of her. After that, I stopped chasing explanations. I stopped asking where she went at night, or who she was with. I turned all my focus to our daughter. I thought if I could just live quietly, peacefully, with her, that would be enough.

Five years of marriage, and Rachel never loved me—nor did she love our child.

Still, I clung to hope. As long as my daughter was with me, life had meaning. It was enough.

But now, even she was gone.

---

The next morning, my in-laws accompanied me to the funeral home. When the time came to push her tiny body into the cremation chamber, my tears fell without restraint. But I bit down hard on my lip, refusing to make a sound.

Beside me, my mother-in-law’s eyes were red, her voice soft with concern.

“Ethan… it’s okay to cry. Let it out.”

I shook my head. My throat was too tight to speak.

My father-in-law stood tall, his face dark with grief and fury. His voice, even when low, carried weight.

“Where is that unfilial girl? On a day like this, how can a mother be missing?”

A flicker of shame crossed my mother-in-law’s face.

“I tried calling Rachel,” she said quietly. “Her phone is off.”

When the staff returned with the urn, my mother-in-law reached for it, her hands trembling. I stepped forward and gently took it from her, clutching it tightly to my chest.

“She’s my daughter,” I said hollowly. “Let me carry her.”

My father-in-law looked like he wanted to protest, but I knelt down before him, holding the urn with both hands.

“Dad… you raised me. Your kindness is greater than a mountain. But this child… she was mine. She’s gone now. Please… let me take her home.”

My voice cracked, but I held back the sobs. My heart had already shattered into too many pieces.

My father-in-law furrowed his brows, clearly torn, but my mother-in-law stepped beside him, resting a hand on his arm.

“Let him, dear,” she said gently. “Ethan is her father. We should respect that.”

I looked up at her with gratitude and stood, walking out of the funeral home with the urn held close to my chest.

I headed back to the house. I wanted to gather my daughter’s things, take all her traces away from that cold place that never truly felt like home.

But the moment I opened the door, I froze.

A man's voice drifted from inside, sickeningly familiar and full of affection:

“Rachel… you’re my lucky star. If it weren’t for you finding that kidney match and staying by my side, I wouldn’t have known what to do.”

“I’ll give you everything you want. Everything, Rachel…”

Then came her voice—low, sultry, shameless.

“Your child is my child, too. I would never let Jamie suffer… Luke… my darling Luke…”

A few seconds later, the sounds of their bodies entangled echoed through the walls. It was coming from the master bedroom—our bedroom.

I stood frozen in the hallway, clutching my daughter’s urn, unable to move, my mind reeling. The sounds of their pleasure, their betrayal, filled the space like poison.

I don’t know how long I stood there.

Eventually, the door opened.

Luke walked out first, his shirt half-buttoned, hair disheveled, a smug glint in his eye. He offered a hypocritical smile, trying to feign courtesy.

“Oh… Brother Ethan, when did you get back? Rachel told me you were still at the hospital with your daughter, so she brought me over. Sorry, man… it’s her fault.”

Behind him, Rachel emerged, fully dressed again, slipping her arm around his.

She glanced at me with barely masked contempt.

“Why are you explaining anything to him?” she said coldly. “What right does he have to question what I do?”

"Alright, let’s go. Jamie’s still waiting for us."

From beginning to end, Rachel never once looked at me.

I silently stepped aside to let them pass.

As she walked past me, her eyes finally landed on the urn in my arms. Her expression twisted in disgust.

“What is that? So dull and dirty… You're seriously holding that thing? God, it’s revolting.”

With that, she wrapped her arms around Luke and left the house without a backward glance.

I lowered my head, brushing my fingers gently over the smooth surface of the urn.

“It’s okay,” I whispered. “Mom didn’t mean you. Don’t take it to heart.”

I placed the urn carefully on the coffee table and began packing up my daughter’s belongings.

Her clothes. Her toys. Her little drawing board.

There was still a half-finished picture taped to it—three stick figures, clumsily drawn, standing side by side. Her small hands had trembled with excitement as she painted it.

I stared at the canvas, and the dam inside me broke. I collapsed onto the floor, holding the painting to my chest, sobbing until I couldn’t breathe.

In those three years of raising her alone, I never spoke a single bad word about Rachel in front of her. I gave her everything I could. I tried to fill the gap of a mother who never cared.

But no matter what I did, she always longed for the moments her mother missed.

---

By the time night fell, I had packed her life into a few sealed boxes.

The moving company I contacted earlier arrived right on time. One by one, they carried the boxes out to the truck.

“Mr. Wells, that’s everything. We’re ready.”

I nodded. Then, turning back inside, I placed the signed divorce agreement squarely on the coffee table—right where Rachel would see it.

When I stepped out, I clutched the urn close. For the first time in years, I felt… light. Not at peace—but weightless, like a man who had finally set down a burden that had hollowed him out.

As I got into the car, my phone buzzed with a message.

Luke:

Brother Ethan, sorry again. Rachel won’t be home for a few days. She insisted on staying here to take care of Jamie. Hope you understand.

This time, I didn’t feel anger. I didn’t feel grief.

I felt nothing—except a strange urge to laugh.

Without hesitation, I pulled out the SIM card, snapped it in half, and flicked it out the window as the car began to move.

Clutching the urn against my chest, I watched the villa—the place I had called home for five years—shrink in the rearview mirror, until it disappeared entirely.

---

Meanwhile, at Sinclair Hospital, Rachel was by Luke’s side when her parents arrived and stopped her in the hallway.

Her face immediately darkened.

“What, is Ethan insane? Acting all noble at home and now sending you here to guilt-trip me? Disgusting…”

Before she could finish, her father’s hand came crashing down across her cheek.

SLAP.

“You heartless beast!” he roared. “You let your own daughter die—your own blood!—and now you’re playing nursemaid to the mistress’s son like nothing happened?!”

Rachel staggered, stunned.

“Dad… what are you saying…?”