He Missed the Funeral... For Her - Chapter 2: Chapter 2
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The evening air felt heavy as I returned home after my father's funeral. Damon still wasn't back.
The house stood silent and cold, the only trace of warmth coming from the freshly hung photo of my father on the wall—his smile a ghost of comfort in the emptiness.
I had no idea where Damon had gone after Carol's birthday celebration. He hadn't bothered to tell me.
I remembered the early days of our marriage, when Damon was like any devoted young husband—constantly texting me updates, even though we worked in the same hospital. He'd share every little detail, sending messages right before surgeries just to say he loved me.
But then Carol transferred to our hospital and joined his department. Suddenly, they were inseparable—attending meetings together, grabbing takeout, filling every spare moment with conversation.
Damon used to visit me during breaks. Now, he spent them all with her.
When I finally confronted him, he just looked at me with that helpless expression. "Carol and I are old college friends. She's new here—it's only natural I'd look out for her."
He swore he loved only me, told me not to overthink it. I believed him. I even smiled and nodded.
I could still see him on our wedding day, tears in his eyes as he promised to always be good to me.
At first, I could brush it off. But the pattern kept repeating.
My doubts hardened into disappointment—disappointment in his evasions, in the way he always chose her over me.
And now? I was done.
I picked up the phone and called my lawyer cousin.
"Ashy, why are you thinking about divorce right after your father's funeral?" Her voice was gentle but concerned.
I swallowed hard. "I'm just... tired."
She didn't push. "Marriage is about sticking together. Unless it's something unforgivable, maybe give it more thought?"
To everyone else, Damon was the ideal husband—my father's protégé, my colleague, the picture of devotion.
No one saw what I saw. No one felt the exhaustion of love that wasn't returned.
I didn't want to chase him anymore. Being alone—free from the weight of a one-sided marriage—sounded like relief.
The moment they wheeled my father into surgery, I knew.
"I've made my decision," I said firmly. "I want a divorce."
With my father gone, the one person who truly loved me had left this world. It was time to stand on my own—no more depending on anyone else.
The house stood silent and cold, the only trace of warmth coming from the freshly hung photo of my father on the wall—his smile a ghost of comfort in the emptiness.
I had no idea where Damon had gone after Carol's birthday celebration. He hadn't bothered to tell me.
I remembered the early days of our marriage, when Damon was like any devoted young husband—constantly texting me updates, even though we worked in the same hospital. He'd share every little detail, sending messages right before surgeries just to say he loved me.
But then Carol transferred to our hospital and joined his department. Suddenly, they were inseparable—attending meetings together, grabbing takeout, filling every spare moment with conversation.
Damon used to visit me during breaks. Now, he spent them all with her.
When I finally confronted him, he just looked at me with that helpless expression. "Carol and I are old college friends. She's new here—it's only natural I'd look out for her."
He swore he loved only me, told me not to overthink it. I believed him. I even smiled and nodded.
I could still see him on our wedding day, tears in his eyes as he promised to always be good to me.
At first, I could brush it off. But the pattern kept repeating.
My doubts hardened into disappointment—disappointment in his evasions, in the way he always chose her over me.
And now? I was done.
I picked up the phone and called my lawyer cousin.
"Ashy, why are you thinking about divorce right after your father's funeral?" Her voice was gentle but concerned.
I swallowed hard. "I'm just... tired."
She didn't push. "Marriage is about sticking together. Unless it's something unforgivable, maybe give it more thought?"
To everyone else, Damon was the ideal husband—my father's protégé, my colleague, the picture of devotion.
No one saw what I saw. No one felt the exhaustion of love that wasn't returned.
I didn't want to chase him anymore. Being alone—free from the weight of a one-sided marriage—sounded like relief.
The moment they wheeled my father into surgery, I knew.
"I've made my decision," I said firmly. "I want a divorce."
With my father gone, the one person who truly loved me had left this world. It was time to stand on my own—no more depending on anyone else.
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