In Bed With Another Woman After Our Daughter's Funeral

I quietly saved Jessica’s message, but didn’t reply.

Not long after, Ethan saw the donations and messaged me.

“Why did you give away so many skirts? Aren’t those for your daughter?”

I read the message but didn’t respond.

Then he added, “Her birthday is coming up. I’ll have someone send over gifts. Just don’t let her bother me.”

Every year on Lily’s birthday, he’d find some excuse not to come home.

Lily never understood why her father didn’t like her. She’d always tug at my hand, begging me to take her to see him.

I could never resist her soft voice and pleading eyes. So I took her to his company—just so she could catch a glimpse of him from afar.

We never dared to get close. We stood outside, hoping he might notice us.

And he did. A few times.

But there was never a smile—only annoyance and cold indifference in his eyes.

Thinking of how Lily was gone, my heart suddenly tightened.

I picked up my phone and replied, “No. She won’t bother you anymore.”

After that, I didn’t respond to any of his messages.

To my surprise, the man who hated going home actually returned that night.

When he stepped inside and didn’t receive the usual warm welcome, he frowned. “Why are you alone?”

I was sitting on the sofa, carefully placing all of Lily’s photos into a small suitcase.

Hearing his question, my hand paused briefly before I calmly said, “I’m not alone.”

Lily’s urn was still in her room. In my heart, she was still with me.

He assumed the child was asleep and didn’t question it. He casually placed a gift box on the sofa and said indifferently, “Last time was a punishment. Auntie’s generous—she’s not holding a grudge. This is a gift she bought. Take the child to apologize next time.”

His tone was patronizing, like he was doing us a favor.

But I couldn’t understand—was it wrong for a child to call her father?

I looked up at him, cold and composed. “No. I’ll buy whatever Lily wants.”

He scoffed, eyes filled with disdain. “Hannah, everything you eat, use—hasn’t it all come from the Sinclair family?”

His words pierced me like a knife.

Lily was born prematurely and was diagnosed with congenital heart disease right after birth. I gave up my job to care for her.

To avoid asking him for money, I took online freelance work and quietly saved every cent.

By now, I’d saved enough to cover a heart transplant when she came of age.

But she never made it that far.

She left me before she even had the chance to grow up.

My eyes dimmed. I lowered my gaze and said, voice steady, “Don’t worry. I’ll never use your money again.”

We are divorced now. There was nothing between us anymore.

He didn’t believe me. He tossed a secondary card on the coffee table and said with a hint of self-righteousness, “Whether you need it or not, she’s still part of the Sinclair bloodline. Don’t embarrass the family.”

In five years of marriage, it was the first time he had ever offered me a bank card.

I didn’t know what he was trying to prove, but it no longer mattered.

I didn’t look up. I continued quietly sorting Lily’s belongings.

My silence wasn’t the reaction he expected. He frowned, clearly annoyed.

“Hannah, don’t push it. I’m trying to be civil here, but you—”

Before he could finish, a sudden thought struck me.

I looked up and said flatly, “Be at North Shore Memorial Hall at eight tomorrow morning.”