My Life For Her Happy Ending Chapter 08

My Life For Her Happy Ending Chapter 08

After that day, the house fell into a heavy silence. 

Mom and Dad stopped speaking. 

At the dinner table, only the soft clink of forks against plates. When they finished eating, they retreated to their rooms and closed the doors softly, as if afraid of waking someone. 

Ethan locked himself in his apartment and drank 

for a month. 

Empty bottles lay scattered everywhere. He sat curled in the corner of the sofa, a photo of the two of us beside him, my old scarf clutched in his hands. He’d take a drink and curse himself. 

Only Chloe refused to give up. She messaged Ethan every day. 

Voice message after voice message, wheedling 

and sweet. 

“Ethan, let’s just pretend the wedding was real. We can be together. I’ll love you even more than Mia 

did.” 

She sent hundreds of messages. Not one reply. 

Until her calls, texts, and every social media 

account were blocked. 

Finally, Ethan packed a suitcase and left the city. 

Chloe went to Mom and Dad next. 

She sat beside Mom, holding her arm, smiling 

sweetly. 

“Mom, I’m your only daughter now. I’ll be better 

than Mia was. I’ll learn what she didn’t know. I’ll fix 

what she did wrong. I’ll do everything for you.” 

Mom sat across from her and didn’t even lift her 

eyes. 

Chloe leaned toward Dad. 

“Dad, you’ve still got me. Mia was always throwing 

tantrums. I’m much more considerate than her. I 

promise I won’t upset you.” 

Dad’s eyes were cold. Empty. 

Chloe’s words died in her throat. Her smile slowly 

froze. 

From that day on, Mom and Dad never spoke to 

Chloe again. 

They didn’t call her to meals. No one answered 

when she spoke. The fruit she bought rotted. 

untouched. 

The way they looked at her–like a stranger. Or a 

corpse. 

Chloe started to get scared. 

She came down with a fever and coughed in the 

living room all night, doubled over, but the 

bedroom doors never opened. She curled up on 

the sofa, shivering and muttering, “Mom, Dad, just look at me… please…” 

No response. 

The silence pressed down, day after day. 

She started talking to the air, muttering to herself 

in the mirror. She stopped brushing her hair. Stopped changing clothes. 

I floated above the living room ceiling and 

watched her fall apart. Her eye sockets sank. Her 

fingers dug into her palms, leaving bloody marks. 

“It’s not my fault… I didn’t kill anyone… It has 

nothing to do with me…” 

“She died on her own… Someone else hit her…” 

“It wasn’t me… It wasn’t me…” 

One night, she stood up suddenly and ran outside 

barefoot, the door left open behind her. 

She ran into the rain, hair plastered to her face, still 

muttering. 

“It has nothing to do with me… It has nothing to do 

with me…” 

No one ever saw her again. 

After that, Mom and Dad visited my grave every day, rain or shine. 

Mom brought white roses and knelt before the headstone, wiping the dust away with a damp 

cloth, inch by inch. 

Then she’d sit beside me and talk about small 

things–who got married, the new kittens 

downstairs, the pot roast she’d finally learned to 

make. Too bad I’d never get to taste it. 

Dad pulled weeds, one by one, methodically. 

Sometimes he’d stop, turn away, and his shoulders 

would shake. 

They donated everything they had to a children’s 

charity. 

On the day of the donation, Mom touched my 

headstone. “Mia, I don’t know what to do with this. 

money anymore. Let’s give it to other children. 

Consider it blessings on your behalf.” 

One day, it rained harder than usual. 

The river swelled. A child fell in and screamed for 

help. 

Mom and Dad happened to be passing by. They 

jumped in without even taking off their shoes. 

The child was pulled to safety, still crying when 

they lifted him out. 

Mom and Dad never came back up. 

Later, Ethan returned. 

He walked to my grave, knelt down, and pulled a 

stack of photos from his bag. He laid them out in 

front of me, one by one. 

“Mia, look.” 

His voice was raw. “This is Banff. Lake Louise, the 

snow–capped peaks. You said you wanted to see 

snow.” 

“This is Hawaii. Sunrise on the beach. You said 

you wanted to watch it with me.” 

“This is Sedona. The desert sky at night. You said 

the stars were brighter there than in the city…” 

He went through every photo, talking for a long 

time. 

“Every place we promised to go together, I visited 

for you.” 

He smiled, tears dropping onto the photos. “Every 

time I got somewhere, I’d take out your picture and 

talk to you. Pretend you were there with me.” 

He gathered the photos and put them away. Then 

he reached out and gently touched my name on 

the headstone, his fingers light, like he was afraid 

of hurting me. 

“Mia, I have no regrets now.” 

“I’m coming to be with you.”

After that day, the house fell into a heavy silence. 

Mom and Dad stopped speaking. 

At the dinner table, only the soft clink of forks against plates. When they finished eating, they retreated to their rooms and closed the doors softly, as if afraid of waking someone. 

Ethan locked himself in his apartment and drank 

for a month. 

Empty bottles lay scattered everywhere. He sat curled in the corner of the sofa, a photo of the two of us beside him, my old scarf clutched in his hands. He’d take a drink and curse himself. 

Only Chloe refused to give up. She messaged Ethan every day. 

Voice message after voice message, wheedling 

and sweet. 

“Ethan, let’s just pretend the wedding was real. We can be together. I’ll love you even more than Mia 

did.” 

She sent hundreds of messages. Not one reply. 

Until her calls, texts, and every social media 

account were blocked. 

Finally, Ethan packed a suitcase and left the city. 

Chloe went to Mom and Dad next. 

She sat beside Mom, holding her arm, smiling 

sweetly. 

“Mom, I’m your only daughter now. I’ll be better 

than Mia was. I’ll learn what she didn’t know. I’ll fix 

what she did wrong. I’ll do everything for you.” 

Mom sat across from her and didn’t even lift her 

eyes. 

Chloe leaned toward Dad. 

“Dad, you’ve still got me. Mia was always throwing 

tantrums. I’m much more considerate than her. I 

promise I won’t upset you.” 

Dad’s eyes were cold. Empty. 

Chloe’s words died in her throat. Her smile slowly 

froze. 

From that day on, Mom and Dad never spoke to 

Chloe again. 

They didn’t call her to meals. No one answered 

when she spoke. The fruit she bought rotted. 

untouched. 

The way they looked at her–like a stranger. Or a 

corpse. 

Chloe started to get scared. 

She came down with a fever and coughed in the 

living room all night, doubled over, but the 

bedroom doors never opened. She curled up on 

the sofa, shivering and muttering, “Mom, Dad, just look at me… please…” 

No response. 

The silence pressed down, day after day. 

She started talking to the air, muttering to herself 

in the mirror. She stopped brushing her hair. Stopped changing clothes. 

I floated above the living room ceiling and 

watched her fall apart. Her eye sockets sank. Her 

fingers dug into her palms, leaving bloody marks. 

“It’s not my fault… I didn’t kill anyone… It has 

nothing to do with me…” 

“She died on her own… Someone else hit her…” 

“It wasn’t me… It wasn’t me…” 

One night, she stood up suddenly and ran outside 

barefoot, the door left open behind her. 

She ran into the rain, hair plastered to her face, still 

muttering. 

“It has nothing to do with me… It has nothing to do 

with me…” 

No one ever saw her again. 

After that, Mom and Dad visited my grave every day, rain or shine. 

Mom brought white roses and knelt before the headstone, wiping the dust away with a damp 

cloth, inch by inch. 

Then she’d sit beside me and talk about small 

things–who got married, the new kittens 

downstairs, the pot roast she’d finally learned to 

make. Too bad I’d never get to taste it. 

Dad pulled weeds, one by one, methodically. 

Sometimes he’d stop, turn away, and his shoulders 

would shake. 

They donated everything they had to a children’s 

charity. 

On the day of the donation, Mom touched my 

headstone. “Mia, I don’t know what to do with this. 

money anymore. Let’s give it to other children. 

Consider it blessings on your behalf.” 

One day, it rained harder than usual. 

The river swelled. A child fell in and screamed for 

help. 

Mom and Dad happened to be passing by. They 

jumped in without even taking off their shoes. 

The child was pulled to safety, still crying when 

they lifted him out. 

Mom and Dad never came back up. 

Later, Ethan returned. 

He walked to my grave, knelt down, and pulled a 

stack of photos from his bag. He laid them out in 

front of me, one by one. 

“Mia, look.” 

His voice was raw. “This is Banff. Lake Louise, the 

snow–capped peaks. You said you wanted to see 

snow.” 

“This is Hawaii. Sunrise on the beach. You said 

you wanted to watch it with me.” 

“This is Sedona. The desert sky at night. You said 

the stars were brighter there than in the city…” 

He went through every photo, talking for a long 

time. 

“Every place we promised to go together, I visited 

for you.” 

He smiled, tears dropping onto the photos. “Every 

time I got somewhere, I’d take out your picture and 

talk to you. Pretend you were there with me.” 

He gathered the photos and put them away. Then 

he reached out and gently touched my name on 

the headstone, his fingers light, like he was afraid 

of hurting me. 

“Mia, I have no regrets now.” 

“I’m coming to be with you.”