Delivering My Son's Ashes to His Father's Party - Chapter 8: Chapter 8
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Joanna stared at Tyler with wounded puppy-dog eyes, unable to comprehend that he wouldn't take her side this time.
Tyler's exhaustion showed in the dark circles under his eyes, but his voice held steel. "She's my wife. You don't get to lay a hand on her."
Joanna's jaw dropped like she'd been slapped. Her face twisted into something ugly—the kind of expression that would've sent me running for cover in the past.
For the first time in our miserable marriage, Tyler had chosen me over her.
For the first time ever, he'd let her taste public humiliation.
A year ago, this moment might've melted my heart. Now? Nothing. Just the hollow echo of a love that had died long before Charlie did.
I pulled the divorce papers from my bag. "Already signed."
Without waiting for a reaction, I cradled Charlie's ashes against my chest and walked out. No goodbyes. No backward glances.
Back at the house—the one I'd stayed in all these years just to keep Charlie's home intact—I threw my life into suitcases. Every photo, every keepsake felt like a relic from someone else's existence.
The front door creaked as I turned with my bags. Tyler stood there like a ghost of himself—shoulders slumped, eyes bloodshot, looking like he'd aged a decade overnight.
"Wendy..." His voice cracked. "Stay. Let me fix this."
Watching me walk away with packed luggage must've finally flipped some switch in him. For the first time, he looked genuinely scared.
"Fix what?" My throat burned, but my voice came out dead. "You can't un-kill our son."
Tyler flinched like I'd struck him. "I know Charlie's death is on me, but if you leave too—Christ, Wendy, I won't survive it." He ran shaking hands through his hair. "Yes, I neglected you both for Joanna, but it wasn't what you think! Our families go way back. When her parents died overseas, I promised—"
"I don't care!" I jerked away from his reaching hands. "Your tragic backstory changes nothing."
Tyler blinked like I'd spoken in tongues. "After twenty years together? The woman who baked cookies for school fundraisers and hosted every damn holiday? You're just walking away?"
The laugh that tore from my throat sounded alien even to me. "That woman died with Charlie."
Tyler's exhaustion showed in the dark circles under his eyes, but his voice held steel. "She's my wife. You don't get to lay a hand on her."
Joanna's jaw dropped like she'd been slapped. Her face twisted into something ugly—the kind of expression that would've sent me running for cover in the past.
For the first time in our miserable marriage, Tyler had chosen me over her.
For the first time ever, he'd let her taste public humiliation.
A year ago, this moment might've melted my heart. Now? Nothing. Just the hollow echo of a love that had died long before Charlie did.
I pulled the divorce papers from my bag. "Already signed."
Without waiting for a reaction, I cradled Charlie's ashes against my chest and walked out. No goodbyes. No backward glances.
Back at the house—the one I'd stayed in all these years just to keep Charlie's home intact—I threw my life into suitcases. Every photo, every keepsake felt like a relic from someone else's existence.
The front door creaked as I turned with my bags. Tyler stood there like a ghost of himself—shoulders slumped, eyes bloodshot, looking like he'd aged a decade overnight.
"Wendy..." His voice cracked. "Stay. Let me fix this."
Watching me walk away with packed luggage must've finally flipped some switch in him. For the first time, he looked genuinely scared.
"Fix what?" My throat burned, but my voice came out dead. "You can't un-kill our son."
Tyler flinched like I'd struck him. "I know Charlie's death is on me, but if you leave too—Christ, Wendy, I won't survive it." He ran shaking hands through his hair. "Yes, I neglected you both for Joanna, but it wasn't what you think! Our families go way back. When her parents died overseas, I promised—"
"I don't care!" I jerked away from his reaching hands. "Your tragic backstory changes nothing."
Tyler blinked like I'd spoken in tongues. "After twenty years together? The woman who baked cookies for school fundraisers and hosted every damn holiday? You're just walking away?"
The laugh that tore from my throat sounded alien even to me. "That woman died with Charlie."
End of Delivering My Son's Ashes to His Father's Party Chapter 8. Continue reading Chapter 9 or return to Delivering My Son's Ashes to His Father's Party book page.