Chapter 2

After a sleepless night of vigil, I dragged my exhausted body to St. Mary's Church. The fragrance of white lilies filled the air, yet it couldn't mask the coldness in people's hearts.

I sat in the front row, watching Patty lying peacefully in that heartbreakingly small white coffin. She wore the pink princess dress I had bought her, clutching the teddy bear that had been her companion for seven years. If not for her pallor, she looked as if she were merely sleeping.

"My baby..." I reached out to gently touch the edge of the coffin, my voice choking.

Whispers came from behind me. I turned to see fewer than twenty people scattered sparsely throughout the pews—some distant relatives of the Everest family, Donald Everest, a few old friends of Stanley's father, and my colleagues. This was the entirety of Patty's funeral attendance.

The departure of a seven-year-old girl, so quietly observed.

The pastor had been waiting for half an hour, constantly glancing toward the church entrance. I was waiting too, waiting for the one person who should have arrived first.

"Mrs. Everest, shall we begin?" the pastor inquired softly.

I shook my head. "Wait a little longer, her father..." Patty would surely want her daddy present.

Before I could finish, the church doors swung open.

Stanley hurried in, impeccably dressed in a suit yet obviously having rushed from somewhere. His hair was disheveled, his tie loose, and I could even smell alcohol on him.

But what instantly turned me to stone was Blondie Carson following behind him.

She was actually wearing a vibrant red suit, high heels clicking, with perfectly applied makeup, as if attending some celebration. The red was jarring against the solemn white of the church, a stark contrast to the surrounding white lilies.

"Sorry, traffic was a bit heavy," Stanley said hastily, walking toward me.

The guests behind us began whispering:

"He actually brought her to his daughter's funeral?"

"That woman is dressed like she's going to a party..."

"This is absolutely outrageous."

I felt my cheeks burn with shame, wanting to crawl into a hole. Stanley sat beside me but didn't look at me once, offering no words of comfort. Blondie sat on his other side, deliberately lowering her voice just enough for those in the front rows to hear:

"Stanley, don't be too sad. Some things are just meant to be."

The pastor cleared his throat. "Let us begin. Patricia Everest, a pure and lovely little angel..."

I clasped my hands tightly, struggling to control my emotions. This was my final time with Patty; I couldn't let anyone ruin it.

"Patricia was just like her mother, possessing a kind and gentle heart..." the pastor continued with the eulogy.

Just then, Blondie suddenly said loudly, "Too bad she didn't inherit her father's intelligence."

The church fell instantly silent, everyone turning to stare at her. I gazed at her in shock, unable to believe she would say such a thing at this moment.

"What did you say?" My voice trembled.

Blondie put on an innocent expression. "I was just saying Patty took after you in personality, very introverted. Not outgoing and smart like Stanley."

More murmurs arose from behind:

"What does she mean by that?"

"Actually, the child doesn't look much like Stanley..."

"The features favor her mother more."

"At seven years old, you should be able to see the father's traits..."

Not only did Stanley fail to refute these comments, he remained silent, avoiding my gaze and looking down at his watch.

I felt my blood freeze instantly. His silence was the cruelest answer of all.

"Stanley!" I whirled around to face him. "Why aren't you speaking? They're questioning your daughter!"

He still wouldn't look at me, only saying coldly, "Freya, don't make a scene here."

Blondie smugly tightened her grip on Stanley's arm, feigning concern: "Freya, don't get upset. Stanley is just still grieving. You two should understand each other..."

But her next words were full of malice: "After all, the child really doesn't look like Stanley, which isn't exactly a secret. But since she was born after your marriage..."

She deliberately spoke with implications that made everyone present understand her insinuation.

The society ladies' whispers became more obvious:

"I see..."

"Stanley's attitude says it all."

"That explains why he was never close to the child."

I looked desperately at Stanley, hoping he would defend us just once—just once!

But he only stared ahead expressionlessly, as if these whispers had nothing to do with him, as if the trampling of mine and Patty's reputation was of no concern to him.

I felt the world spinning, everything mocking me. At my daughter's funeral, in this sacred church, I was being publicly humiliated while her father chose to stand by and watch!

"Enough!" I shot to my feet, my voice echoing through the church.

Everyone stared at me—some with sympathy, some with curiosity, some with schadenfreude.

I took a deep breath, looking at Stanley's cold face: "I want a divorce. Please arrange for lawyers to handle the property division."

This statement silenced the entire room. Stanley let out a cold laugh:

"You're finally showing your true colors, just like when you climbed into my bed all those years ago. Now that the child is dead, you want to claim the assets?"

His words hit me like a punch to the chest. The whispers around us became more piercing:

"So she was the one who initiated..."

"No wonder she's so eager for the money."

"She looks so innocent, who would have thought..."

Blondie pretended to mediate: "Stanley, don't talk about Freya that way. After all, you were husband and wife..."

But the triumph in her eyes betrayed everything.

I looked at these people, looked at Patty lying in the coffin, and suddenly felt a violent coughing fit. I pressed my handkerchief to my mouth, feeling warm liquid.

Blood.

I quickly stuffed the handkerchief into my purse, ensuring no one could see.

"Fine." I said calmly. "If that's how it is, we have nothing more to say."

I took one last look at Patty, silently saying in my heart: Mommy is sorry, I couldn't even protect your funeral.

I turned and left, my footsteps echoing in the church. Behind me came Blondie's voice:

"Mrs. Everest, aren't you staying for the rest of the service?"

I didn't turn back, pushing open the church doors and walking toward the parking lot.

It had started raining outside, cold droplets hitting my face, mixing with my tears. I got into my car, started the engine, and through the rearview mirror saw Stanley and Blondie standing at the church entrance, his hand on her waist, looking intimate.

I pulled out the diagnosis report I had hidden for a month:

Diagnosis: Advanced lung cancer, estimated survival time 2-3 months

Looking at this paper, I suddenly felt everything had an answer.

"Patty, Mommy will come to join you soon," I whispered. "Since he hates us so much, let's give him what he wants."

The rain grew heavier, blurring the windshield and my vision. I decided to leave this world quietly, no more entanglements, no more hoping for any warmth.

At least in heaven, Patty and I could be together forever.

And Stanley—let him live the life he wanted with his beloved Blondie.

I started the car and drove away from this place full of lies and coldness, never looking back.