I stood alone at our daughter’s funeral, barely able to hold myself up. My baby girl, gone too soon. And my husband? He sent a text that morning:
“Can’t make it. Important meeting. I’ll call later.”
Later… while I held her teddy bear, he was feeding strawberries to his mistress in Dubai.

I had suspected something. A month earlier, I began tracking his phone. And on the day of the funeral, the truth hit like a second death — photos of him in a hotel, smiling with another woman, while I held the hand of our dead child.

He abandoned us, even in grief. And that’s when I decided: he’d feel everything I felt.

When he returned a week later with fake tears and forced apologies, I smiled. Then handed him the proof — texts, photos, plane tickets, everything.

“I understand,” I said.
Then I showed him what understanding really looked like:
Divorce papers.

A media leak.
His company in ruins.
Our house, our cars — all sold.
Our son? Staying with me.

He lost it all.
Just like I lost her.

My daughter deserved a father who cared. Not a coward who ran.