Chapter 4

Before I could respond, David jumped in, trying to sound pitiful.

“Sarah, I’ve only just come to this city. I don’t know anyone here. You were the only person I could turn to.”

“I never thought your husband would be upset over something like that.”

“And now, when we’re still not fully healed, he’s trying to throw us out of the hospital.”

I stared at him in disbelief, stunned by how easily he twisted the truth. I shifted my gaze to Sarah, who stood defiantly at his side.

“David, you know very well why you came here,” I said icily. “And you know I haven’t thrown you out or done anything to force you.”

“You’ve eaten my food, lived in my house, and now you’re turning the tables on me?”

“Does that not weigh on your conscience?”

David’s face grew even paler. He pressed a hand to his chest and started coughing violently, as if overcome by the stress.

Seeing him struggle, Sarah snapped.

Without warning, she slapped me across the face.

The force of the blow left me stunned. I raised a hand to my stinging cheek, staring at her in disbelief.

Sarah sneered at me, her lips curling in contempt.

"That slap was for David."

I laughed, but the taste of salt reminded me that I wasn’t amused—I was heartbroken.

"Sarah, remember this."

“From this moment on, I will act as though Chloe never had a mother like you.”

I didn’t wait for her response. I turned my wheelchair around and left the room.

Whatever happened from here, I was done. I would never allow them to hurt me again.

Chloe’s funeral was set for the next day.

The sky was heavy with thick clouds, blocking out the sun. Before long, a mixture of rain and snow began to fall.

Sarah knew what day it was—she knew it was our daughter’s funeral—but she didn’t show up.

While I sat alone in the cold, holding Chloe’s tiny urn, I saw something that made my blood boil. David had posted a photo on his social media—a picture of him, Sarah, and Emily, smiling happily together.

They looked like the perfect family.

I was drenched, pushing my wheelchair through the rain, clutching Chloe’s ashes, when suddenly, a figure appeared beside me.

An umbrella shielded me from the rain, and I looked up to see Samantha Quinn.

We’d been childhood friends, but ever since I married Sarah, we had drifted apart. I never expected her to show up at my daughter’s funeral.

“I know you’re in pain,” she said gently, “but now isn’t the time to fall apart.”

Her bright, clear eyes seemed to see straight into my heart, as if she knew everything I was feeling.

She was right. It wasn’t time to break down. Not yet.

There was something I needed to do.

After the funeral, I sent Sarah a message.

It was simple—just five words: Let’s get a divorce.