She Skipped His Father's Funeral for Her Fake-Dying Ex

"Eric, I'm sorry. Curse me, hit me, whatever you want. Just don't blame Miranda, all right?"

"I know these past weeks she's been at the hospital for me and not your dad, but before she passed out, it was your name she kept calling!"

My whole body went rigid. I ignored the goad in his voice and said flatly,

"I don't blame her. Take good care of her."

"Eric, but I can't take care of anyone. I'm a sick man who can't even lift a finger. How am I supposed to look after her?"

He couldn't lift a finger, sure. But he could get Miranda to sit with him right under my nose, using my father as her cover.

One offhand "last wish" from him, and she'd walk out on my father without a second thought.

Which of them mattered more had been settled long ago.

I thought of every time Miranda set down her work to come sit with my father, and how he would urge her to put her career first, telling me to be more understanding of her too, and my throat tightened.

The joke was on us. She played my father and me for fools, and we thought she was loyal and true.

"I'm busy. I don't have time to play games with you two."

"How can you be so cold? No wonder Miranda would rather stay with me than go back and mourn at your father's funeral!"

I ignored his smugness, hung up, and turned to Cecily.

"Cecily..."

Before I could finish, she said firmly,

"I'll mourn for Dad."

I turned my head away and wiped at the tears I couldn't hold back.

Cecily fumbled to get me a tissue.

"Don't cry. She's not worth it, a woman like that!"

I shook my head and gave a bitter smile.

"I'm not crying over her. I'm crying because my father deserved better!"

Miranda and I were together eight years, and for eight years she lived off my father's care.

Four years of covering her college tuition, then arranging an internship for her at the top firm in Southport after she graduated. It was always my father helping her.

Last year she wanted to start her own company. I emptied out every cent I had and still came up short.

It was my father who quietly dipped into his own retirement savings, told her to go for it, that he'd have our backs no matter what.

It was only this time, when he got so sick and couldn't stop worrying about me, that he used his own regret of having no daughter to mourn him and asked Miranda for one promise.

Her vows, and her patience in dropping everything to come to the hospital every day, put my father and me completely at ease.

We never dreamed it was all an act.

And that some promises are nothing but empty checks.

Just like she said she'd marry me, year after year, and every year she had a different excuse to put it off.

The first year out of school, we were still young, no rush.

The second year, she was too busy with work to plan a wedding.

The third year, when I had everything ready, she said she wanted to build her company first, to marry me once she'd made it, so everyone would envy us.

The fourth year, she finally agreed to marry me, only because my father was dying.

But my father is gone now, and so is my love.

And I finally understood: she wouldn't marry me for one simple reason. She just didn't want to.

The pain of losing my father left me numb to losing Miranda entirely.

Cecily held me for a moment, then turned to go organize the procession.

Someone asked me,

"Eric, where's your fiancée? Without her to mourn, we can't carry the casket out!"

I stepped up beside Cecily and told them all, calm,

"She's not coming. From now on, Cecily is my father's daughter-in-law."

No one there was a fool. They didn't ask anything more.

They only looked at me with eyes full of ache and pity.

The funeral ended in a downpour. Between the rain and the grief, I passed out at the cemetery.

Cecily rushed me straight to the hospital.

After the doctor was done, she went to pay and pick up the medicine while I headed for the restroom.

And walked straight into someone.