Chapter 1
Freya's POV
The rain outside never stopped, and my heart ached with each drop.
I sat beside Patty's small bed, cradling the teddy bear that would never wake up again. Everything in the room remained exactly as it was three days ago—colored pencils scattered across the desk, her drawings of our family of three taped to the wall, where stick-figure mom and dad held hands with their little girl, each face beaming with bright smiles.
Now it all felt like a cruel joke.
My fingers traced the tangled wires and tiny bulbs on her nightstand, tears blurring my vision again. That was Patty's final project—a night light that would never be finished.
"Mommy, Daddy says he's afraid of the dark. I want to make him the prettiest night light ever."
My daughter's innocent voice still echoed in my ears. That was the day before Father's Day, when Patty had snuck into the garage, wanting to surprise the father who barely noticed her.
How could she have known that surprise would cost her life?
"Stanley!" I gritted my teeth, tears falling onto the teddy bear's fur. "She just wanted to chase away your darkness..."
My heart was bleeding. Seven-year-old Patty had given her small life trying to bring light to a father who was never home. And I, her mother, had failed to protect her.
I don't know how long I sat in that room, until night fell completely, until the rain grew more urgent. I had to go to the funeral home. I had to be with my daughter on her last night in this world.
Eight o'clock that evening, the viewing room at the funeral home was dimly lit.
Patty lay peacefully in her small white casket, her pale face like that of a sleeping angel. I had been here since dusk, keeping vigil and waiting for the man who should have been the first to arrive.
My husband. My daughter's father.
Footsteps echoed from the hallway.
Stanley Everest had finally come.
I held my breath, my heart pounding. Maybe—maybe when he saw Patty, he would understand what he had lost. Maybe he would cry, feel regret, realize—
He pushed through the door hurriedly, immaculate in his business suit, every hair in place, as if heading to some important corporate meeting. When his gaze swept toward the casket, I stared intently at his face, waiting for his breakdown, waiting for his tears.
But there were none.
Stanley approached the casket, looked down at Patty, his expression terrifyingly calm. In fact—I actually caught a glimpse of something resembling relief cross his features.
My heart plummeted into an icy abyss.
"What time does the funeral start tomorrow?" he asked, his tone as casual as inquiring about the weather. "Are all the insurance paperwork squared away?"
What?
I felt the world spinning around me. Had I heard him wrong? Had he just asked about insurance paperwork?
"Stanley, this is your daughter!" My voice trembled as it broke free from my throat.
"Is she?" He didn't even look up, his voice carrying bone-chilling indifference. "Are you sure she's my daughter?"
"Are you insane?!" I shot to my feet, my legs shaking. "This is Patty! Your Patty! She was trying to make you a Father's Day gift when she—"
"Mine?" Stanley finally looked at me, those eyes devoid of any warmth, as cold as if he were looking at a stranger. "Freya, we both know how this child came to be. For seven years, I've been playing the role of a good father. Now... it's time to end this charade."
End this charade?
Those words hit my heart like a sledgehammer. I stared at this stranger before me, unable to believe my ears.
Was this still Stanley? The same Stanley who used to smile at me in medical school? The Stanley that Patty had called Daddy for seven years?
"What are you saying?" My voice barely squeezed through my clenched teeth.
"I think I'm being quite clear." Stanley glanced impatiently at his watch, a gesture that reminded me of how he looked when rushing off to see Blondie. "This marriage was a mistake from the start. Now... perhaps this is an opportunity."
An opportunity? Our daughter's death was an opportunity?
I felt my blood freezing in my veins. He had actually said that. Standing before our daughter's casket, he had called her death an opportunity.
"She's only seven!" My voice was hoarse, tears streaming uncontrollably. "She called you Daddy! She drew pictures for you! She wanted to make you a night light! Stanley, she's our daughter!"
"She's your daughter." He corrected coldly.
In that instant, I felt my heart stop beating. Your daughter? How could he say such a thing?
I remembered Patty waiting by the window every night for him to come home, remembered the family portraits she drew, remembered her bragging to other children that "my daddy is the handsomest"...
All along, in his heart, Patty had never been his daughter.
Just then, Stanley's phone rang.
I saw the fleeting softness that crossed his face, and my heart shattered. He had never shown me or Patty such an expression.
He answered the call: "Blondie... yes, I'm at the funeral home... okay, I'll be right there."
Blondie.
Even standing before his daughter's casket, she was all he could think about. I tasted something bitter rising in my throat.
"You're leaving?" I stared at him in disbelief. "On the night before Patty's funeral, you're going to Blondie?"
Stanley was already walking toward the door. "See you tomorrow, Freya."
No, I couldn't let him just walk away!
"Wait!" I rushed forward and snatched his phone. The chat history on the screen made my blood freeze instantly—
Yesterday 22:15
Blondie: Baby, I've booked the hotel in Paris ❤️
Stanley: We'll leave right after the funeral
Today 18:30
Blondie: She won't bother you anymore. We can finally be together openly
Stanley: Yes, finally free
Finally free.
My hands shook violently, nearly dropping the phone. So in Stanley's eyes, Patty and I were nothing but shackles, and our daughter's death had become his liberation.
I remembered three days ago when Patty had her accident, how I called him frantically, sobbing and begging him to come back. He said he was busy, that he'd get to the hospital as soon as possible.
Busy with what? Busy planning a life without us with Blondie?
"How can you do this?" Tears poured out like a broken dam, my entire body trembling. "Stanley, she's your blood! She loved you more than anything!"
The intense emotion made me dizzy, that familiar tightness in my chest returning. I gripped the wall, trying to steady myself.
"I said give me back my phone."
Stanley didn't hesitate to snatch the phone from my hands and strode toward the door. At the threshold, he paused for a second:
"Freya, face reality. This marriage should never have happened."
Outside, a silver luxury car waited. Through the window, I could see Blondie's golden hair gleaming under the streetlight.
Stanley walked toward that car without looking back.
I wanted to chase after him, grab him, ask if he had any humanity left. But my legs felt like lead—I couldn't take a single step.
Bang—
The sound of the car door closing was like the dull thud of a coffin lid falling shut.
I collapsed to the floor, watching that car disappear into the rainy night. I was alone in the funeral home with my daughter, who would never again wait for Daddy to come home.
I slumped into the chair, covering my face with my hands. The tears had dried up, leaving only hollow despair.
I thought about that afternoon three days ago, when Patty had snuck into the garage, her small hands trembling as she connected the wires. If I had stopped her then, if I hadn't gone to the kitchen to prepare dinner, if...
If Stanley had been home, Patty wouldn't have gone to the garage to make that night light.
If Stanley had ever loved us, this tragedy would never have happened.
I slowly walked to the casket, looking at my daughter's peaceful face. In Patty's small hand, I found a folded card.
"For the Best Daddy—Even though you don't come home much, Patty still loves you. I hope the night light can chase away the darkness, just like how Daddy chases away Patty's fears."
Below was Patty's crooked signature, with a little heart drawn beside it.
The best daddy.
I clutched the card tightly, tears flowing again. My daughter had loved a man who didn't love her back, even until her death. And I had loved a man who wasn't worth loving for eight whole years.
I thought about the medical report I'd received last month, the news I hadn't had a chance to tell Stanley yet. Maybe it was for the best—at least he wouldn't have to worry about me as another "burden."
Outside, thunder roared, as if heaven itself was weeping for this innocent little angel.
After tomorrow's funeral, I would move out of the Everest mansion. Since Stanley didn't want us, I would give him his freedom. From now on, I would just be Freya Thompson, no longer Stanley Everest's wife.
But I would always be Patty's mother.
Maybe I wouldn't have much time left to keep her company, but for every day I could still breathe, I would live well, for her memory.
