Mock Funeral: Deep Love Cannot Overcome All Difficulties

Jane, momentarily lost in guilt, snapped back to full alertness.

She shielded Winston, fussing over his face in front of me.

"Mike, what's gotten into you today?!"

My gaze fixed on Winston, "You better run back to your mess of a business."

Winston, feeling the threat, flushed but tried to play it cool, "Jane, cool it with the anger. Don't let me mess up what you two have. If Mike can't see the truth about Emily, I'll act like I don't know either."

I turned to Jane, "You believe she was faking too?"

Jane stayed silent, but her look told me everything I needed to know.

I burst out laughing, though it was more bitter than amused.

"Jane, you're not cut out to be a mom."

I spread Emily's medical records across the table, notices of her critical condition stamped all over.

Jane glanced over them dismissively, "Seen all this before. Got anything new?"

Emily was battling acute gastric cancer, her condition fluctuating dangerously. Every critical update from the hospital was communicated to Jane, pleading with her to visit her daughter one last time.

To Jane, though, it was just another boy crying wolf.

And I was that boy, supposedly lying through his teeth.

I remembered Emily's face when she got the news, her weak smile breaking through, "Dad, let's do the mock funeral. It's okay if it's just Mom and you."

My heart broke for Emily. I spent that night on my knees in front of Jane, replaying those apology videos, until she finally agreed—on the condition she'd finally give herself completely to Winston.

They went through the motions like a real couple, but Jane always stopped short of finality.

She prided herself on being a wife already, not wanting to cross a line.

That thought always brought to mind the old saying about a saint on the street but a sinner behind closed doors.

That was the real betrayal.

I had accepted my role, wearing the cuckold's horns, but she didn't even show up for the actual funeral.

I thought about gathering more evidence, confirming her death with the hospital, taking Jane to Emily's grave...

But then I stopped myself. Why bother?

Jane's bias was too deep, too ingrained to ever change. Let it go.

Seeing my defeated look, Jane thought she had the upper hand, smugly demanding, "Apologize to Winston, or I'm never attending that mock funeral."

I was speechless, utterly dumbfounded.

Doubting her sanity, I responded flatly, "Emily doesn't need it anymore. Just leave."

My patience had worn thin, civility long gone.

Jane frowned, incredulous, "Mike, don't push your luck. I've backed down as much as I'm going to. What more do you want?"

"After all the drama, satisfied yet? Apologize to Winston, and maybe I'll consider making our marriage official."

"Forget it, you disgust me."

I said it straight, no sugarcoating left.

Jane's mask finally slipped, her rage uncontainable, "Mike, are you out of your mind?!"

"If you don't apologize to Winston today, I'm calling the hospital to halt all her treatments!"

I never fought for Emily's custody; it was always in Jane's grip.

Initially, she didn't even want the child, but now using her as a pawn repeatedly.

If Emily were still alive, had I not been so fed up, no longer willing to endure endless humiliation like some spineless mutt, would Jane really have made that call?

She would have.

Surgery delays waiting for family consent, so I kneeled before them and slapped myself over and over until Jane was satisfied to sign.

Now, even with Emily gone, Jane still wielded her life as a threat without a second thought.

I was enraged.

"Earlier you said Emily was faking her illness, now you're threatening to stop all treatments, what the hell do you see her as?!"

"Jane, you are truly despicable, rotten to the core!"

I stared at Jane in despair, once thought of as sweet, now just vile and nauseating.

She had never faced such humiliation, especially not from someone she viewed as less than her.

She furiously pulled out her phone, a twisted smile on her face, "Mike, I'm giving you one last chance—apologize or not."

"Not happening."

There's no logic in victims apologizing to their abusers.

Jane dialed the number, a smug look as if to say, "Just watch what I do next."

"Dr. Fogg, halt all medical interventions for Emily immediately."

Silence stretched on the other end, and then Dr. Fogg hesitated, "You are Emily Lapord's parent, correct?"

"Absolutely."

Jane smirked, flaunting that the child was hers to control.

But the next words hit her like a thunderbolt.

"Unfortunately, we can't comply with that request because Emily has passed away—she died the day of the mock funeral, and as her parent, you weren't there."