Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness - Chapter 5: Chapter 5

I could no longer hear the words around me clearly, standing numbly before my mother's coffin.
"Paisley, the ceremony is about to start. Arnold still hasn't come?"
Someone asked me.
"He wouldn't skip the wedding and the funeral too, would he?"
The eulogy in the church had ended, and guests' eyes occasionally fell on me. I sat in the front pew, feeling weightless.
A few candles burned quietly by the altar, their flickering light making my face appear even paler.
I looked down at my phone—only 2% battery left. The call log clearly showed: I had called seven times. He hadn't answered once.
In the seven days since my mother's death, I had barely stopped. Funeral preparations, receiving guests, cremation arrangements—I handled every trivial detail personally.
I kept comforting myself: Arnold must be truly too busy.
Maybe he was handling some emergency at the company and couldn't even return a call.
"He probably can't make it."
I slowly stood up, weakly gripping the chair for support, struggling to straighten my body, my voice calm but hoarse: "Let's begin."
But as soon as I finished speaking, someone nearby laughed coldly: "Paisley, how busy can Arnold be? Not showing up for seven days—he really doesn't respect your mother at all."
I recognized my cousin Katherine's voice.
"I think Arnold just doesn't respect Paisley at all. After all, she's a woman who can't get pregnant."
She spoke casually, each word piercing my heart like needles.
I struggled to maintain composure on my face, but couldn't hide the bitterness and doubt in my heart.
Even now, I still wanted to make excuses for him.
He was my husband, my nominal family. We'd been married three years—he was never good at expressing emotions. Maybe... he really couldn't get away.
However, reality tore apart my self-deception in the most direct way.
"Paisley!" Katherine suddenly screamed, startling me as I turned to look at her.
She wore an expression of watching drama unfold, holding her phone in front of me: "Isn't this Arnold? He's trending!"
I instinctively looked down—it was a trending video from this morning:
【Cavendish Group CEO Arnold Cavendish Books Entire Venue for True Love Victoria's Birthday】
In the video, fireworks blazed like daylight under the night sky. Arnold sat in a chair with a gentle expression, his deep eyes gazing at Victoria, who smiled radiantly beside him.
I froze, my mind blank. I gripped the phone, my palms growing cold uncontrollably.
Katherine laughed coldly: "Didn't you say he was busy? Looks like he really was busy—busy being romantic with another woman."
I bit my lip desperately, trying not to let tears fall, trying not to lose control at this moment.
But he clearly knew what today was. How could he... how could he bear to do this?
I had always thought he simply wasn't good at romance, didn't like holidays, preferred being calm.
He never celebrated birthdays or wedding anniversaries. I had told myself he was just naturally cold, no need to worry about such formalities.
Only now did I understand—he wasn't incapable of romance. He simply never wanted to be romantic for me.
He booked venues and set off fireworks for others, while I couldn't get him to attend our wedding or my mother's funeral.
How ironic.
For three years, I knew he didn't love me. But I never expected love—I only wanted a little companionship, a little dignity.
I was just the wife his father "entrusted" him to marry, to repay the life-saving debt his father owed mine.
I slowly looked away and put down the phone.
I couldn't collapse. I still had to host my mother's funeral. I had to hold on.
The church's lighting was dim and quiet. I took a deep breath, supporting my stomach, and staggered toward the podium. My hands trembled, but I persisted in giving the eulogy.
I still remembered how my mother wanted to see Arnold one last time before she died.
I had called countless times then too—he didn't answer. Maybe... he was with Victoria then as well.
On her deathbed, my mother hoped Arnold and I could live happily together forever.
But perhaps I couldn't do that anymore.
After all the guests gradually left, I sat alone in the corner holding my mother's urn, like a porcelain doll about to shatter.
The door was finally pushed open—
Arnold arrived late.
He wore a black shirt, his face showing little emotion. When he saw me, his gaze fell on me, and his usually cold face rarely showed some remorse.
I looked up at him, my hand gently resting on my stomach.
The grievance I had suppressed for so long almost burst like a dam in that instant.
I took a deep breath and swallowed all the humiliation, shame, and pain.
My face remained calm, my tone light to the point of indifference: "Just finished work?"