He Missed the Funeral... For Her - Chapter 13: Chapter 13

The whole hospital knew Damon and I were going through a divorce—and that he was desperately trying to win me back. His grand gestures were impossible to ignore, turning our personal drama into public spectacle.
His colleagues urged him to back off, to stop making things harder for me. But Damon wouldn't listen. "I can't live without her," he'd say, as if that justified everything.
Meanwhile, some of my coworkers—mostly the women—pushed me to reconsider.
"He's a great doctor," they'd say. "Look how hard he's trying." Sure, he was charming, and yes, he'd put effort into us before—but that didn't erase what he'd done. His mistakes weren't small missteps; they were betrayals. And I was done forgiving.
I smiled and shook my head. "Once trust is broken, you can't just glue it back together."
Besides, even if Carol hadn't been in the picture, there would've been someone else—Cara, Cathy, Crystal. The problem wasn't the other women. It was Damon. His half-hearted love. His lack of effort.
Before, I might've caved. Given him another chance, told myself he'd change. But I'd done that too many times already. The night my father died, something in me shifted. I wasn't living for anyone else anymore—certainly not for a man who only remembered how much he loved me once I was walking away.
I handed in my resignation. The hospital was haunted by too many ghosts. A friend of my father's connected me with a medical director at another hospital, and I took the opportunity without hesitation.
On my last day, as I packed up my office, Damon showed up unannounced. The room was so quiet I could hear our breathing.
"You're really leaving," he said, his voice rough with emotion.
I nodded. "People move on."
I didn't owe him—or anyone—my presence.
He stood there, silent, before finally offering a small, resigned smile. I mirrored it, feeling lighter than I had in months.
Then he held out a bouquet, his eyes pleading.
"Thank you," I said, taking it before turning away.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his lips part—maybe to beg, maybe to wish me well. But I didn't stop to listen. It didn't matter anymore.
As I walked away, Damon was lost in memories—our laughter, our promises, the way we used to be. But Carol had shattered that. His mentor's death had twisted everything.
Now, standing alone, he whispered into the empty air, "I'm sorry, Warner. I'm sorry, Ashy."
Too little. Too late.
The entire hospital knew Damon and I were going through a divorce—and that he was desperately trying to win me back. His grand, dramatic gestures were impossible to ignore.
His colleagues urged him to let go, to stop making things harder for me, but Damon wouldn't listen. "I can't live without her," he insisted.
Meanwhile, some of my coworkers nudged me to reconsider. "He's a good man," they'd say. "Look how hard he's trying. Sure, he messed up, but was it really unforgivable?"
I just smiled and shook my head. "Once trust is broken, you can't just glue it back together."
Besides, even without Carol, there would've been someone else—Cara, Cathy, Crystal.
The problem wasn't the other women. It was him. His lack of effort. His love that had never been enough.
Maybe in the past, I would've caved. Given him yet another chance. But not anymore. I'd handed him too many second chances, and now? I was done.
Maybe the decision had been made that night my father died. Maybe that was the moment I realized—I'm living for myself now. Damon's grand gestures? Just noise. A weight I was ready to drop.
I handed in my resignation. The hospital was haunted by too many ghosts.
A friend of my father's connected me with a renowned medical director at another hospital. A fresh start. A new path.
On my last day, as I packed up my office, Damon showed up unannounced. The room was so quiet I could hear our breaths.
"You're really leaving?" His voice was rough, strained.
I nodded. "People move on."
I didn't owe anyone my presence. I am what I am.
Damon stood there, silent. Then, slowly, he smiled—and so did I. It felt like relief.
He held out a bouquet, his eyes pleading.
"Thank you," I said, taking it. Then I turned away.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his lips part—maybe to beg, maybe to wish me well. But I didn't stop. It didn't matter anymore.
Whatever words he had left? Too late.
I walked away, ready for whatever came next.
Behind me, Damon was drowning in memories.
We had loved each other once. Deeply. Madly. There had been so much laughter, so many promises.
Then Carol came. Then Warner died.
And everything shattered.
"I'm sorry, Warner… I'm sorry, Ashy…" His voice cracked, his gaze hollow.
Regret was a bitter pill. But some things?
You don't get to undo.