Chapter 3
Grandma’s funeral
Veronica’s POV
The church was quiet, the kind of silence that pressed on your chest and made it hard to breathe.
I knelt beside Grandma’s coffin, my fingers trembling as I placed the plate of apple pie beside her handkerchiefs.
It felt wrong somehow, offering her favourite dessert when I knew she wouldn’t get to taste it again.
“You always said this pie tasted like love,” I whispered, barely loud enough to hear myself over the pounding of my heart. “I hope you can feel it now, wherever you are”.
My voice cracked, and I bit my lip to hold back the tears. I didn’t want to cry anymore. I was tired of crying, tired of feeling like a part of me had been ripped away.
A hand landed on my shoulder, startling me. For a moment, I thought it was Carter, and relief flickered in my chest like a fragile flame. But when I turned, it was Orthon.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it.
“Thank you,” I replied, my tone clipped.
I didn’t have the energy for pleasantries, not now.
But Orthon didn’t leave. Instead, he hesitated, his brows furrowing like he was working up the courage to say something. “I’m sorry for…everything else, too. For what my family did. For the pain they caused”.
His words hung in the air, heavy and unexpected.
I looked up at him, searching his face for insincerity, but I didn’t find any.
It was strange to hear an apology from someone who had done nothing but treat me right while the one who was supposed to apologise wasn’t even here.
“I appreciate that,” I said finally, though the words felt hollow.
Orthon nodded, his shoulders sagging in relief, and stepped away.
I turned back to Grandma’s coffin, brushing my fingers over the lilies arranged around her.
The petals were soft and cold, like everything else today.
The church doors creaked open, and I heard the familiar sound of polished shoes clicking against the floor. My stomach twisted. Carter.
I didn’t look up. I didn’t need to.
“Veronica,” he said, his voice brisk and devoid of emotion. “Sorry, I’m late”.
Late! The word hit me like a slap. I straightened, still refusing to look at him, and adjusted the flowers for the third time. My hands shook, but I kept them busy.
“You’re always late,” I murmured, my voice low.
“What was that?” he asked, his tone indifferent, as though he hadn’t just walked into the most painful moment of my life.
I turned to face him slowly, my eyes locking on his. He looked pristine, as usual—his suit perfectly tailored, his tie knotted flawlessly. Not a single hair was out of place. His expression had a flicker of pity in them but that was it.
“You’re late,” I repeated, louder this time.
“And I said I’m sorry about it,” he replied, shrugging slightly.
“I had back-to-back meetings. It couldn’t be helped”.
My chest tightened, anger rising like a tide. “It couldn’t be helped?” I echoed, my voice trembling.
“Carter, this is her funeral. The one person who was always there for me, and you couldn’t even bother to show up on time?”
He sighed as if I was being unreasonable. “You’re being dramatic. I’m here now, aren’t I?”
His words felt like a slap, and I took a step back, crossing my arms over my chest. “You’re always here too late. Birthdays, anniversaries, emergencies—you never show up when it matters. You just swoop in after the damage is done and act like it’s enough”.
“I’m not going to argue with you,” he said, his tone clipped.
“This isn’t the time or place for this conversation”.
“Oh, now you care about timing?”I shot back, my voice rising, along with my temper.
“You’ve never cared about what I need, Carter. Not once. Do you know how many nights I’ve sat alone, wondering if you’d even notice if I disappeared?”
“You’re being ridiculous,” he said, his jaw tightening.
“Ridiculous?” I laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and sharp.
“Do you even hear yourself? This isn’t about a missed dinner or a forgotten date. This is about you never being there when I need you. This is about me finally realizing that I deserve more than scraps of your attention”.
Carter’s expression did not change. He didn’t flinch or soften.
He just stood there, his hands in his pockets, his gaze steady and cold.
“What do you want me to say, Veronica? That I’m sorry? Fine. I’m sorry. Can we move on now?”
The finality of his words sank in, and something inside me broke.
“No”
I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “We can’t move on. Not from this, not this time around”.
He frowned, finally showing a flicker of confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’m done,” I said, meeting his gaze with a spirit of defiance that I didn’t know I had.
“I’m filing for a divorce”.
For the first time, his composure faltered, but only slightly. His brows furrowed, and his lips pressed into a thin line.
“You’re overreacting”.
“No, Carter,” I said, my voice firm.
“ I’ve spent years underreacting. Years waiting for you to care enough to show up. But I’m done waiting. I deserve better than this. Better than you. I’m leaving you as both your wife and secretary!”
He said nothing, his face hardening into an unreadable mask.
I didn’t wait for him to respond.
I turned on my heel and walked out of the church, the sound of my footsteps echoing in the hollow silence. Behind me, I knew he wouldn’t follow. He never did.
