Ethan froze when my words hit him. His gaze snapped to mine, full of regret and disbelief.
“What happened to your face?” he asked, his voice thick with confusion.
“Allergy,” I shot back, my tone cold. “I told you before. I’m severely allergic to alcohol.”
He never believed me.
Ethan went silent, and I could see him mentally replaying every time I had tried to explain it. Each time, he brushed it off as nothing more than jealousy on my part.
After a beat, he pulled out his phone. I thought for a second he was about to have someone bring over the divorce papers. Instead, he dialed his assistant.
The moment he heard the assistant’s voice, he froze. Then, it clicked—he’d already fired him. He hung up, irritation flaring on his face.
His gaze flickered to me, and I saw the shift. He dialed the hospital next.
“I’m Ava’s relative,” he said, his voice tight. “I need to check on her allergy—why hasn’t she come back?”
Even now, after everything, his first thought was Ava.
I couldn’t hold back a bitter laugh.
The hospital staff told him they had no record of Ava visiting. The call ended, and his face went pale with confusion.
I didn’t let him stew in it. I leaned forward, my words cutting through the room. “Are you still worrying about the person who killed your daughter? You say I’m unfit to be a mother. What does that make you? A good father?” My voice dripped with contempt. “Ethan, don’t you think you’re ridiculous?”
His jaw tightened, the weight of my words sinking in. He froze, processing what I’d said, his expression flickering with shock.
Finally, his eyes went wide.
It hit him. Finally.
I didn’t wait for him to speak. “The video you showed me? It was from two days ago. By then, Emma had already been cremated.” I stood firm, not backing down. “Instead of chasing after Ava, you should be dealing with the fact that your daughter was framed.”
Ethan’s hands went slack, his phone slipping from his grip. It hit the floor with a dull thud. His eyes were filled with guilt, his shoulders slumping.
He bent down quickly, scooping up the phone. His gaze flickered between the door and me, as though he wasn’t sure whether to leave or stay.
He turned and shouted toward the door, “Get out. All of you. Leave!”
As he reached for the door, something seemed to stop him. He turned back, his eyes falling on the urn in my hands. His face twisted with a mix of guilt and remorse.
Without another word, he walked toward me and dropped to one knee.
“I’ll take you,” he said quietly. “We’ll bury Emma together.”
I stared down at him, my expression cold. “You’re not worthy.”
Ethan’s face crumpled. He looked defeated, like every ounce of strength had drained from him. Without a word, he slapped himself across the face, hard. The sound echoed in the quiet room. His skin reddened almost immediately, his chin trembling with emotion.
I didn’t speak. His actions said everything.
