The Ex-Wife He Can't Get Over

Katelyn's POV

It was a little after 1 p.m. when I got to the funeral venue. The sky was overcast.

Most of the guests were already seated, and several heads turned as I walked in late.

My phone buzzed with another message-one of many generic condolences I'd been receiving for days.

But the one person I was hoping to hear from-even just a lazy "sry"-sent nothing.

Not a word. Not even a period.

Ethan.

My husband.

The one person who should've been by my side today... couldn't even be bothered to send a text.

I stared at the screen longer than I should have, hoping maybe something would pop up. It didn't.

And somehow, even though I'd seen this kind of coldness from him before, it still hurt.

I was used to it, but it didn't make it hurt any less.

Disappointed, I slipped my phone back into my clutch and straightened up in time to spot Derek.

Derek was tall. Standing at 6 foot 7, he was often mistaken for a basketball player. His tall frame moved determinedly like a storm, crossing the aisle in just a few strides, cutting through people without apology. He didn't even wait until we were out of earshot.

"You're late." His voice was low but hard-edged. "Mom waited for you for years, and you couldn't even show up on time for this?"

"I got delayed," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "The flight-"

"Don't," he snapped. "Don't blame the flight, Katelyn. You knew what today was."

"I do know," I said tightly. "Believe it or not, I'm the one who lost a mother too."

His jaw tightened. "Oh yeah? Then where's your loving husband? Shouldn't he be here, holding your hand, playing the grieving son-in-law?"

I froze. Our father, Marcus, was now beside Derek, though his eyes were bloodshot and his gaze held no warmth as he looked at me.

"Where is Ethan?" he asked.

"He-he's stuck in meetings," I lied. "He couldn't-"

"Meetings?" Derek scoffed. "Seriously? Your mother dies, and he's too busy to pay his respects? Is that the excuse you're running with?"

"Can we not do this here?" I whispered, glancing at the rows of people behind us. "This isn't the time."

"Oh, I think it is," he said, not bothering to lower his voice. "Do you think none of us noticed? Every time you try to reach him, you have to go through his secretary. You don't even get your husband on the phone without scheduling an appointment. That's not a marriage, Katie. That's a f**king performance."

I swallowed hard. I wasn't ready for this. At least not today.

But Derek kept going. "You're hanging on by threads and pretending it's a rope. Wake up. He doesn't give a damn about you. He didn't even bother to show up for Mom's funeral. You really think he sees this family as his?"

"Stop it," I hissed. "That's enough."

Derek stared at me, jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. I could tell he wanted to say more, but our father put a hand on his shoulder, quietly pulling him back.

I looked away, not trusting my voice. My stomach twisted as a heavy knot formed right behind my ribs. I reached for the only thing that could pull me back from the edge.

"Where's Lucas?" I asked in the most normal tone I could manage. "Did someone bring him inside already?"

No one answered.

My father sighed and pointed to the row behind him.

"He's there," he said. "He didn't want to sit at the front."

Following the direction of his hand, I spotted my son in the corner pew. He was half-hidden behind a woman's hat. His small fingers were pushing a toy car across the bench, completely absorbed in his own world.

A lock of his ebony hair flopped over an eye in his bent state, and his jaw was bobbing as his lips shifted from a buzz to a round shape, probably from making engine sounds to himself.

A slow pain crept into my chest. I hadn't seen him in days.

Because the flu had been severe where I lived, I'd entrusted Lucas to Marcus to take care of him these past few days.

Now, seeing him so absorbed in his world, I just missed him terribly.

I missed him-missed the sound of his laugh, the way his fingers curled into mine without hesitation.

I walked over slowly. "Lucas," I said softly.

He looked up. The moment his eyes landed on me, his face lit up.

"Mom!"

He scrambled to his feet and threw his arms around my waist. I bent down, hugging him tightly. He smelled like fresh laundry and crayons.

"I missed you," I murmured into his hair.

"I missed you too," he said. "Grandpa's been helping me with my drawing. Wanna see?"

"Of course."

He sat back down and pulled a folded piece of paper from the back pocket of his pants. It was a mess of colors-red scribbles, a blue stick figure, and something that might've been a flower.

"It's for Aunt Scarlett," he said proudly. "I'm making her a welcome-back gift."

My smile froze.

How could I forget? Of course my sister would be back for the funeral.

Lucas beamed as he held up the drawing, then gave a quick nod like he was proud of himself. "She's coming home today! Daddy said she's flying in tonight. He even went to get her at the airport. With flowers!"

He leaned in a little, lowering his voice like it was a big secret. "He told me not to tell anyone 'cause it's a surprise." He giggled. "Oops."

I forced a smile, brushing his hair off his forehead. "It's okay. Your secret's safe with me."

He grinned and went back to coloring.

I stood up slowly, stepping back toward the hallway as I pulled out my phone. The number was still saved under "Hubby."

I don't know why I hadn't changed it. I hit call.

It rang once. Then twice. Then his voice answered-sharp, clipped, annoyed. "What?" In the background, I heard her. Scarlett. Laughing. Before I could say anything, the line went dead.

I stared at the screen. No message. No callback. Not that I expected one. It wasn't even sadness anymore. Just a dull, constant hum-like background noise I'd learned to live with.

****

The sound of a microphone tapping echoed softly across the chapel.

"The pastor's about to speak," someone whispered.

People began shifting in their seats, settling down, murmurs fading into silence. I turned back toward the pews, scanning for an open spot.

Lucas was still sitting where I'd left him, his toy tucked into the crook of his arm. I walked toward him, planning to slide in next to him. But just a few feet away, I stopped.

He was talking.

"This seat's for Aunt Scarlett," he said, patting the empty space beside him.

My heart thumped once-loud and slow.

Derek leaned in. "That's right, bud. Your mom's been way too hard on Scarlett anyway."

I didn't breathe.

Then came my father's voice, low but clear. "Not just you, son-everyone likes Scarlett. How about letting her be your mom?"

Lucas nodded at them like it all made sense.

I couldn't move. Couldn't speak.

I just stood there, a few steps away, invisible in plain sight.

My legs felt numb, but I couldn't bring myself to sit down-or even pretend I hadn't heard.

I just stood there, suddenly aware of how cold the chapel had become and suddenly clear about how unimportant I was to my family, including my own son-so unimportant they wouldn't even save me a seat or care that I was awkwardly standing to the side.