FORSAKEN WIFE, NOW A BILLIONAIRE'S GREATEST REGRET

The deep, dark odor of this place could not be covered up by the scent of formalin and fake flowers. 

I carried her in my arms, a frail weight wrapped in white linen that felt incredibly little against the pit of my chest. My loose black dress, hanging on a frame scoured by anguish, murmured around my legs with each stride. There was no choir or procession of grieving loved ones. It's just me. Only the echoes of my own footsteps on the clean tile.

Angela had always hated the cold.

The crematory helper, a man with a friendly face and a professionally sad voice, held open the hefty door. "Right this way, Ms. Arcony."

I placed her down on the impersonal metal platform, my hands resting on the linen shroud. I drew the hair pins from my pocket. I made them myself for her seventh birthday two months ago—tiny, exquisite butterflies made of sea glass and silver wire. She yelled with excitement and wrapped her arms over my neck. "They are perfect, Mommy! I will wear these every day! "

I placed her on the impersonal metal platform, my hands resting on the linen shroud. I removed the hair pins from my pocket. 

I made them myself for her seventh birthday just two months ago, tiny, beautiful butterflies made of sea glass and silver wire. She yelled with delight and threw her arms over my neck. "They're perfect, Mommy!" I'll be wearing these every day! "

The assistant cleared his throat gently. "The documentation is in order. Can we ensure that Lanc Arcony, the father, has been notified? Or other family members? We normally need a signature from a next-of-kin beyond…”

I looked up, and the pity in his eyes almost destroyed me. Almost. But the grief had been drained from me, leaving behind something harsher, sharper. A bitter, sardonic smile crossed my lips, a horrible approximation of warmth.

"The father?" " I repeated, the words tasted like ash. "Oh, he has been notified." The entire family, including his mother Doña Caridad Arcony, has been contacted. They're just extremely busy. You understand how things are. Board meetings. Charity galas. "Romantic dinners."

The man blinked, his compassion failing in the face of my acidic tone. He simply nodded, concluding that the paperwork was in excellent order.

I did not stare at the flames. I couldn't. I stood rigid in the austere waiting room, listening to a silence that was louder than any sound, while holding the elegant urn handed to me twenty minutes later. It was still warm.

The weight, the finality, felt like a stone in my spirit. I stepped out of the crematorium into the moist evening air, cradling Angela to my chest and protecting her from a world that had already done its worst.

And that's when I noticed them.

The enormous, spotless windows of La Perla, the city's most upmarket restaurant, revealed a vision of flawless, shining delight. There he was. Lanc Arcony is my husband. His head was thrown back in an almost audible laugh through the glass, a sound that had previously pleased me but now felt like a physical blow.

Stella Huzon, his three-year mistress, gazed at him with adoration, her hand firmly resting on his arm. Jenny, her daughter, was standing behind her, grinning.

Jenny wore a bracelet that reflected the light from the crystal chandeliers overhead. A magnificent diamond and platinum tennis bracelet. Angela had been begging Lanc for the identical bracelet for months. He'd told her it was too expensive, she was too young, and she didn't comprehend the value of things.

My grip on the urn tightened and my knuckles turned white. I turned around, turning my back on the horrific scene and hugging the urn to my body as a desperate, meaningless barrier.

"Don't look, baby," I gasped out, hot tears running down my cheeks and tracing pathways through the cremation dust. "Don't look." He is not worth it. "Neither of them are."

Three days. The machines had only been flatlined for three days. Three days had passed since he abandoned her in that hospital room, when she required his rare, precious blood type to survive the emergency transfusion following the accident. He had been inaccessible. His phone turned off. Now I understood why. He had been busy. Creating his new, improved family.

I was still raw and bleeding from the inside out when the summons arrived. This is not a telephone call. A summons. A uniformed driver delivered it to my vacant and silent apartment. Doña Caridad Arcony asked my presence at their family mansion.

I went. I'm not sure why. Perhaps a morbid part of me needed to glimpse the bottom of the ocean.

She greeted me in her morning room, surrounded by hothouse flowers that appeared too exquisite to be genuine. She did not express condolences. She did not mention Angela's name.

"Gwen," she said, her tone as icy and polished as the marble floor. "Now that this unfortunate business is behind us, we must focus on the future." "Of the family."

"Lanc cannot remain tied to the past," she said, stirring her tea with a subtle clink of silver on fine china.

"It's time for him to marry Stella." It will give Jenny a suitable father and legalize their relationship. It is the finest option for everyone. "We must move forward."

Move forward. The words echoed in the empty void where my heart once was. Unfortunate business. She said it was God's will.

My voice, when it finally came, was quiet, but it vibrated with a fury so immense it shook my very bones. “Move forward?” I took a step toward her, this woman who had never once held her granddaughter. “Your son let my daughter die alone. He was with his whore while Angela was begging for him. And you sit there, surrounded by your fucking flowers, and talk about moving forward?”

Her lips pinched into a thin, bloodless line. “There is no need for crudity, Gwen. The child is gone. It was God’s will. We must be practical.”

The child. As if Angela had never had a name. As if she had never existed at all.

I looked at this cold, monstrous woman, and then I saw Lanc’s laugh through the restaurant window, and I felt the warm weight of the urn in my hands.

The grief was gone. The pain was gone. All that was left was a cold, clear, and terrifying certainty.

They thought they could erase my daughter. They thought they could sweep her memory aside like broken glass and replace her with a shiny new model.

They were wrong.

I turned without another word and walked out of that mausoleum. The sun was too bright. The world was too loud.

But inside me, there was only a silent, screaming vow.

They wanted to move forward? Fine.

I was going to burn their perfect, pristine world to the ground.