He Faked His Death And I Came For Our Daughter’s Ashes Chapter 01

He Faked His Death And I Came For Our Daughter’s Ashes Chapter 01

Right before my flight left Crestwell, I got word that my ex-husband had died.

“His will states that he wants to leave his ashes to you. Please come to the Milton Central Funeral Home on April 24th at 12 p.m. to collect them. The address is…”

April 24th, 12 p.m.

I wheeled my suitcase into the funeral home, and just as I stepped inside, Brandon Hart, the man who was supposed to have died in a car accident, walked out laughing with a group of his friends.

“Pay up, pay up! I told you she’d cave.”

“Brandon’s a legend. His wife disappeared on him for three whole years after the divorce, and she still came crawling back on a plane for him.”

“Look, her eyes are all red. She probably just finished crying over him.”

Three years had passed. He looked thinner, his hair neatly combed back. He held a bouquet of red roses, his expression a mix of confidence and a flicker of nervousness.

“Mandy. I knew it. You still care about me.”

I didn’t take the flowers. I stepped back two paces, steadied myself, and shook my head calmly. “You’ve got it wrong. I was just passing through.”

“Passing through?”

He didn’t believe me. “You showed up exactly when I said you would. You came for my ashes, didn’t you?”

I had come to pick up ashes.

But I never said they were his.

***

I didn’t explain. I stepped around him and headed to the front desk to register.

Brandon grew anxious and reached out to stop me. “Mandy, don’t be like this. I was impulsive when I agreed to the divorce. But there’s nothing between me and Celeste.”

“Her father was good to me before he died, and he asked me to take care of her. I couldn’t just abandon her and her daughter. Now that you’re back, let’s at least talk.”

I looked up at him. “Move.”

He sighed but still wouldn’t budge. “Fine. Even if you won’t forgive me, doesn’t Tessa want to see her father?”

I was silent for two seconds. My eyes burned and swelled.

“When Tessa wanted to see you, you were either celebrating Celeste’s birthday or telling her daughter bedtime stories. You don’t deserve to be called her dad.”

Before my daughter died, she was severely burned. She looked like she had been through an unspeakable agony, her skin raw and blistered.

The painkillers didn’t work. She was so delirious with pain that she tugged at my sleeve and whispered, “Does Daddy not come because he doesn’t love me anymore?”

I knelt by her bed, barely holding back my tears.

I was the one who had walked out on the marriage in anger, with nothing to my name. After Tessa was cremated, I couldn’t even afford a burial plot. I had to store her ashes at the funeral home.

I came back this time so she could finally rest in peace.

Brandon knew none of this. He just stood there, talking to himself. It was ridiculous.

I took the application form and wrote down my daughter’s name.

[Tessa Hart.]

I hadn’t written it in so long. My hand trembled.

The receptionist tapped her pen against the QR code on the counter. “Scan and pay the fee, and you can collect her.”

I nodded, scanned the code, and walked past Brandon toward the back.

Behind me, I heard him sigh in frustration.

“You’re always like this. You never say anything. I try to explain, and you won’t listen. I looked for you for three years, and you never once wrote back.”

“You say it’s hard raising a daughter alone overseas. You might as well come home…”

I stopped and turned to look at him.

In just three years, streaks of gray had appeared in his hair. On his left ring finger, he still wore the faded matching wedding band. He looked at me with a mix of hope and hesitation.

“You misunderstood. I didn’t come back for you.”

He froze.

The staff member handed me a small ceramic urn, smaller than the palm of my hand.

I held it close to my chest and said, in a voice more composed than I expected, “I came for my daughter’s ashes.”