I Left My Husband When He Hated Me Most

Ever since the day he returned from the university, I had noticed that something was off about Dan.

I was dead. He should have felt triumphant.

After all, he had hated me for years. He had finally exacted his revenge with his own hands, even going so far as to pour my ashes down the drain.

Logically, he should have felt liberated.

However, over the past few days, he had remained silent. His eyes were hollow. He was distracted even during high-level meetings at the company.

His assistant noticed as well. He cautiously said, “Mr. Fanning, you haven’t seemed yourself lately. Would you like to postpone some of the events in your schedule and take a break? I can arrange flights and a hotel.”

Dan stared at his computer screen. He was tapping his fingers on the desk absentmindedly.

He was silent for a long moment before finally saying, “Cancel my meetings for this afternoon and tomorrow.”

His assistant nodded. “Okay. Where would you like to go? I’ll make the arrangements right away.”

“Cemetery,” he said flatly.

I froze.

A cemetery? Evelyn’s grave?

However, when Evelyn left back then, no one knew where she had gone.

They never even found her body. How could there possibly be a grave?

That afternoon, I followed Dan out to a cemetery on the outskirts of the city.

He was dressed entirely in black, and there was a small paper bag in his hand.

His steps were light, as if he were afraid of disturbing something.

When he finally stopped in front of a headstone, I saw the name carved into it.

[Evelyn Wright]

My heart sank.

The grave was new. The area around it was spotless. It was clearly tended to regularly.

However, I knew there were no ashes buried beneath it. There were only a few articles of clothing she had once worn.

Dan crouched down and gently wiped the photograph on the headstone. His touch was tender, as if he were brushing a lover’s cheek.

An aching bitterness rose in my chest.

He loved her so much.

Even with nothing left of her, he had bought this plot and given her a proper resting place.

On the other hand, he had knocked over my ashes with his bare hands, leaving nothing behind.

Dan shed all pretenses. He casually pulled two bottles of high-proof liquor from the paper bag.

Then he sat down on the empty ground beside the headstone. After twisting one open, he lifted it straight to his mouth and took a hard swig.

The alcohol burned on the way down. He frowned as he swallowed.

He leaned back against the cold stone, and the confusion and sorrow in his eyes grew heavier.

“Evelyn, I’m here.”

A soft wind rustled the leaves above, like a whisper that seemed to answer him.

He kept drinking and talking to the gravestone.

His tone was conversational, yet it carried the weight of a confession.

“Are you doing alright over there? Oh, I miss you.”

Standing to the side, I felt an aching pressure in my chest.

He drank faster. As he rested against the cold headstone, he continued to mumble to himself.

His cheeks flushed. His eyes were losing focus.

In the end, he was almost slumped over the headstone. His fingers unconsciously traced the edge of the stone as he whispered, “Evelyn, I’ve gotten my revenge. So, why don’t I feel happy?”

His voice cracked. As if he had finally run out of strength, he buried his face in his arm. His shoulders were trembling as he cried.

I stared, motionless. I felt like my heart was gripped by an invisible hand.

He was in pain, yet there was nothing I could do.

The smell of alcohol clung heavily to Dan. From a distance, his assistant saw that he was barely conscious and hurried over. He said carefully, “Mr. Fanning, are you okay? Should I take you home?”

Dan did not answer. He just shook his head vaguely before letting it loll forward in a semblance of a nod.

With no other choice, the assistant hauled him to his feet and got him into the car.

He collapsed into the back seat. He was breathing heavily.

His eyes were half-closed. His lips were moving as he mumbled something under his breath.

I leaned in closer to make out what he was saying.

Then I froze.

The name he was calling…

“Emma…”

It was my name.