At the hospital, I found our emergency fund empty while my husband toasted Christmas in a five-star suite with his sweetheart and her dog. The photo showed her in lingerie, straddling my husband over a game of strip poker. The doctor shook his head, declaring the patient deceased. I stormed home to confront my husband, only to find him too wasted to stand, waving me off like a bothersome fly. My son rushed out, yelling, “Mom, stop picking fights! What’s the big deal if Dad spends a little on Felicity. She’s just his best friend!” “Besides, it was Grandma who was sick! You should’ve paid! Why’d you even touch our savings?” My husband smirked at me. “I really can’t believe your mom died over a bit of money.” A cold, bitter laugh escaped me. It wasn’t my mom. It was his! I pushed the door open at 3 AM. Daniel was passed out on the couch. The stench of stale booze and perfume made my head spin. I walked over, the bank card digging into my palm. “Where’s the money?” He stirred, voice thick with sleep and annoyance. “What’s your problem? I just got off an overtime shift. I’m exhausted. Can’t you just chill?” I shoved the card in his face. “Two hundred thousand. Gone. Where is it, Daniel?” His eyes darted away. “I don’t know, maybe-” I didn’t wait. I opened my phone, pulled up Felicity’s Instagram, and thrust the screen under his nose. That photo was perfectly framed. There was Felicity, in a sequined bra, radiant as she clung to Daniel, gripping his tie. And there was Daniel, smiling, his hand tugging playfully at her bra strap. That relaxed, contented smile-I hadn’t seen it in years. In the corner, their Pomeranian, Snowball, perched before a pet cake studded with candles, its neck ringed by a sparkling gold collar. The caption read: “Thank you to my incredible Daniel for Snowball’s Christmas! Gold collar with his name, lifetime insurance-all set. Love my perfect ‘best friend’!” I stood there, arm outstretched, frozen. “It’s just… some money,” he finally muttered. “Snowball is family to her. She wanted to give him a perfect Christmas. What’s the crime in helping a friend? The venue, the photographer, the custom collar-twenty grand. A dog deserves love, doesn’t it? I got him lifetime insurance too. Fifty thousand. The rest…we celebrated. It’s called networking. You wouldn’t understand.” I heard myself laugh-a short, sharp sound. “What’s wrong?” “Why are you like this? Felicity isn’t a stranger. We have history. And if your mother died over money…that was her choice. Not my problem.” He turned his head away, dismissive. My son rubbed his eyes and walked out. “Dad’s right. If she died, it’s because you didn’t make enough. We shouldn’t have touched the savings. What’s wrong with helping a dog? Snowball’s a living thing. Aunt Felicity is nice to Dad, so he’s nice back. What’s wrong with that?” I whipped around to stare at the child I’d raised for fifteen years. He said it calmly, as if stating a simple fact. Just hours ago, the E.R. doctor’s words still rang in my ears. “Ms. Clara? Your mother-in-law has had a massive stroke. She needs surgery now.” I clutched the bank card and rushed to the hospital, only to see two words flash on the terminal: “INSUFFICIENT FUNDS.” My mother-in-law, Eleanor, had a pension of over ten thousand a month. She scrimped and saved, handing every spare cent to Daniel, or to her grandson. I watched his face cycle through self-righteousness, to irritation, and finally settle into a mask of cold blame-and beneath it, a flicker of relief. Even in the subtle curl of his lip, I caught it: that familiar, ghost of a smile. I’d seen it before. Every time my own mother was unwell, he’d perform concern, but that same fleeting, lighthearted look would surface. He’d always boasted about his mother being tough, brushing off her high blood pressure, her hidden snacks of fatty meat and strong tea. Now, his “tough” mother had collapsed. And he still thought it was my mother. I nodded, pressing my lip into a thin line. “You’re right,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “That’s fate. Nothing to regret.” “But the dead still need burying. What’s the plan for the funeral?” His face twisted with instant irritation. “She’s your mother! Why should I care? You handle it. I have no money and no time for this!” “Alright.” I didn’t look at him again. I simply turned and walked towards the bedroom.
My mother-in-law’s death certificate was just a simple sheet of paper. In the living room, Daniel was scrolling on his phone, shoving cookies into his mouth. My son, Leo, was sprawled on the sofa, the cacophony of his video game filling the air. “What time is it?” Daniel heard me and looked up, furious. “No breakfast again? Are you trying to starve us?” Daniel let out an irritated tsk, pushed himself up, and fished his wallet from the briefcase. He peeled off several bills, walked over, and flicked them toward me. “Enough. Stop moping around like it was your own mother.” His voice was thick with condescension and undisguised annoyance. “Here. Five hundred. Go buy some discount flowers and a cheap candle. Wrap this up. Quickly.” “I’ve already booked my annual leave. Leo and I are taking Felicity to Whistler to ski. Don’t you dare try to guilt-trip us into canceling.” Leo’s eyes widened. He paused his game, sitting bolt upright. “For real? Dad! Yes! I want the new Carbon Pros.” His young face showed pure elation, even a hint of complaint. “Grandma, seriously…she couldn’t have waited? She still owes me my graduation gift.” Grandma. He said it so naturally. Both father and son were absolutely convinced that the person who died last night was my mother. Slowly, I bent down and picked up the bills. This five hundred dollars was his entire budget for “my mother’s” funeral. “Daniel, don’t you want to go see Mom at the hospital? It’s the last time.” His lips curled into a mocking smile. “What’s the point? She’s dead. Occupying a hospital bed costs money. Just burn her, already.” He paused, his tone growing more impatient. “Honestly, your mom really knows how to pick her timing. Not dying sooner or later, but right on Christmas, almost ruining my ski trip with Felicity.” I took a deep breath. Well, if Daniel, her own son, requested this, why should I waste my effort? Just then, the doorbell rang. The annoyance on Daniel’s face instantly vanished, replaced by a cheerful lightness, and he strode to open the door. “Daniel! Leo, sweetie!” Felicity stood there, cuddling that fluffy white Pomeranian. A dazzling gold chain shimmered around her neck, its pendant identical to Snowball’s collar. “I’m here to take Snowball for his Christmas grooming! Oh, Clara, you’re here too?” Her lips curved into a perfectly measured, pitying arc. “My condolences, Clara. Daniel told me about your mom. Old age, you know, nothing you can do.” She changed the subject, her smile deepening, as she ostentatiously stroked her necklace. “Look, it’s a matching set for me and Snowball! Daniel picked it out specially. Isn’t it cute? He says I’m even more adorable wearing this than Snowball is.” Snowball was set down and immediately scampered around the living room, rubbing against Daniel’s pants, then going to Leo’s feet. “Oh, that reminds me,” Felicity chimed in, her voice artificially light. “About your mother…it won’t interfere with our ski trip at the end of the month, will it? Daniel assured me it was fine, so I went ahead and booked the hotel. All good?” I watched Felicity’s saccharine smile, Daniel’s utterly indulgent and even doting gaze upon her, my son chasing the dog, and finally, my eyes fixed on Daniel’s face. “Daniel, let’s get a divorce.” “What did you say?” Daniel took a step forward, his voice squeezed through clenched teeth. “Clara, are you out of your mind? You want a divorce over your mom dying?!” He tried to crush me with his usual intimidation. “How are you going to explain this to your dad? Don’t you dare embarrass me like this!” “Mom! What are you talking about?!” Leo lunged forward, shielding his father, his face filled with incredulity and fury. “Grandma just passed, and you’re not even sad, you’re here making a scene about divorce? Are you sick?! You’re making Dad and Felicity laugh at us!” He pointed at me, his tone full of accusation and disdain. “Do you know how good Felicity is to me? She buys me anything I want! She’s more like a mom than you are! What’s wrong with Dad helping her? All you ever do is make a long face!” Felicity, with her arm around Leo, shot me a triumphant, challenging look. Every word was like a final hammer blow, shattering the last vestiges of my heart, any lingering illusion that perhaps, just perhaps, some humanity remained in them.
The funeral home chapel was stark and empty, only my mother-in-law’s body lay there. A staff member handed me a price list. Daniel’s call came in just then. “Just pick the cheapest cremation,” his voice held its usual impatience. “It’s just ashes, what difference does it make? Don’t waste money.” I didn’t argue. I checked the last box. The urn was also the simplest wooden box. As I walked towards our apartment complex, familiar laughter drifted over. At the corner, in front of an expensive pet store, Daniel and Felicity stood side-by-side. Felicity was holding a brightly colored ski suit up to Snowball. Daniel’s arm was casually wrapped around Felicity’s waist. Snowball seemed to sense something, suddenly wriggling free from Felicity’s arms and dashing towards me, barking furiously. I was startled. The wooden box slipped from my grasp, smashing onto the ground. The lid flew open, and a scattering of gray-white ashes spilled out. “Snowball! Come back!” Felicity shrieked. Daniel finally saw me. The smile on his face instantly froze. The arm around Felicity’s waist snatched back as if burned. His gaze swept over the mess on the ground, his brows furrowed. Snowball ran to the ashes, sniffed curiously, then let out several loud sneezes, shaking his head repeatedly. “Oh no! My Snowball!” Felicity, in high heels, rushed over, cradling the dog protectively. Her eyes immediately filled with disgust and anger as she looked at me. “Clara, what are you doing?! You scared Snowball! He just got over a cold! And what… what is this on the ground? It’s so dirty! How unlucky!” Daniel walked over, first looking at Felicity and the dog in her arms, then shifting his gaze to me and the scattered ashes. His face was grim, part embarrassment at being caught, part pure exasperation. “Are you not watching where you’re going?” He preemptively accused me, then stiffly added, as if to explain the previous scene, “Felicity’s back isn’t feeling well, I was just… rubbing it for her.” He suddenly raised his foot and kicked hard at the pile of ashes several times! The ashes swirled up, scattering into the cold, dry air, becoming even more formless. “Clean it up now!” He shouted at a street sweeper nearby, his tone brooking no argument. “This is utterly disgusting! Throw it in the trash!” “Why are you standing there?” Daniel snapped. He yanked a bill from his wallet and shoved it at the worker. “Just take it away! It’s disgusting!” He turned to me, his tone chillingly casual. “Stop gawking. So the urn broke? Go scoop some dirt from the backyard, put it in a box, and be done with it. No one’s going to autopsy the ashes.” Just then, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was the funeral director, calling to finalize the simple interment for tomorrow. Before I could answer, Daniel snatched it from my hand. “Keep it simple. Don’t waste money on a plot. Just find some public land outside the city. Bury the box. Don’t order any flowers or anything.” He paused, glanced back at me with a look of pure, performative malice, then added. “Actually, add one more thing. Hire a mariachi band. A small one. Three people. Have them play at the graveside. Something upbeat. What’s with the long faces? She had a long life. Let’s give her a proper send-off. Make it festive.” I stood there, holding the empty wooden box, listening to him plan his mother’s “festive” funeral as casually as ordering a pizza, her ashes to be mixed with backyard soil. Felicity was cooing at Snowball, rolling her eyes. “Daniel, hurry up, this place smells weird, Snowball isn’t comfortable.” Daniel hung up, shoved the phone back into my hand, and brushed imaginary dust from his hands, as if he’d completed a bothersome chore. “That’s how it’s going to be,” he concluded, no longer looking at me. He turned and walked towards Felicity, his voice regaining its lightheartedness. “Come on, after we finish getting Snowball his gear, let’s grab some food.” I gently closed the lid. Fine. Have it your way, Daniel. After all, it wasn’t my mother in there.
The wind whipped dust across the rural landscape.I had to squint against it. Before me lay a raw mound of earth-no stone, no name. Only a weathered wooden stand held the box I’d filled with soil from our apartment’s dying flowerbed. A cheap Bluetooth speaker screeched out the latest viral pop song. In front of the grave, a handful of young women in sequined skirts gyrated in a crude, listless imitation of a dance. A crowd of local villagers had gathered at a safe distance, drawn by the noise. They stood in a silent semicircle, pointing and murmuring among themselves. I stood witness to Daniel’s demanded “celebration.” Just then, a taxi sped up. The door opened. A middle-aged woman, looking travel-ravaged and pale, stumbled out. It was Sarah. Daniel’s sister. She had clearly just arrived from the airport, her face etched with the fatigue of a long flight and an expression of disbelieving panic. Her gaze swept over the dancing women, the gawking villagers, finally landing on the solitary grave and the wooden box on the table. “Mom?” she cried out hoarsely, her legs buckling. She collapsed directly in front of the dirt grave, her shoulders trembling violently, a choked sob escaping her throat. “Mom!” I was about to step forward when another car arrived. Daniel got out, accompanied by Felicity and my son, Leo. The moment I saw them, my pupils narrowed. All three of them were dressed in garish, bright red. As soon as Felicity got out of the car, she raised her phone, excitedly pointing it at the dancing women, taking photos and videos, clucking approvingly. Daniel put an arm around her shoulder, a smile on his face as he said loudly, “This is more like it! A bit of liveliness is good, the old lady would have loved it.” I walked up to them and said, “This is a funeral. Dressed like this, isn’t it inappropriate?” Daniel immediately pulled Felicity behind him, as if shielding a precious treasure, and glared at me impatiently. “Clara, are you done yet? It’s just a memorial service! Don’t be so old-fashioned. Felicity and Snowball are here specifically to lighten the mood.” He paused, his tone growing even more self-righteous. “Besides, your mom’s dead. What does she know?” Sarah, who had collapsed to her knees by the grave, snapped her head up at his words. Her face was a mess of tears. She stared at her brother, as if he’s a stranger. Daniel finally noticed her. He moved forward, trying to pull her up. “Sarah, what’s all this? This is Clara’s mother’s-” He didn’t finish his sentence. CRACK! A raw, open-handed slap exploded across his cheek. Sarah staggered to her feet, her whole body trembling violently. She jabbed a shaking finger toward the raw mound of earth. “Daniel! Open your eyes! Look! Who do you think is in there? That’s Mom! Your mother! And you…you give her this? You let these performers dance at her grave? You wear red? You… you heartless monster!” The slap snapped Daniel’s head sideways, a red mark blazing across his cheek. He held his face, his eyes shifting from shock to utter confusion. He suddenly turned to me, lips trembling with a silent question. I took a deep breath, walked to my just-arrived parents, and calmly gestured toward the absurd scene. “Mom, Dad. This is the funeral Daniel arranged. For his mother.”
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “325333”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #浪漫Romance #现实主义Realistic #重生Reborn
Leave a Reply