I stared at the photograph for a long time.

Daniel was sitting beside Claire’s hospital bed.

His coat was draped over her shoulders.

One hand rested on her arm.

The same hand my mother had held countless times while telling him:

“Daniel, you don’t have parents nearby, so consider this your home.”

I turned my phone face down.

Then I lit the incense myself.

“Mom.”

My voice broke.

“I brought him back.”

I looked at the empty place beside me.

“Just not in time.”

That evening, Daniel called seventeen times.

I answered the eighteenth.

“Emily, Claire fainted at work. I couldn’t just leave her.”

“I didn’t ask.”

He went quiet.

Then he said impatiently:

“Why are you acting like this? I already told you I’ll visit your mother next week.”

“There won’t be a next week.”

“What?”

I looked at my mother’s photograph.

“She died twenty-three days ago.”

Silence.

Complete silence.

Then Daniel whispered:

“What did you say?”

“My mother is dead.”

“No.”

His voice changed instantly.

“Emily, don’t joke about something like that.”

“I’m standing in front of her ashes.”

I heard something fall on his side.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

I laughed.

It sounded terrible.

“I tried.”

I had called him the night she was admitted.

He rejected the call.

I messaged him the next morning.

He replied:

Busy. We’ll talk later.

When the doctors told me she might not survive the night, I called six times.

Claire answered the seventh.

“Daniel is sleeping. Stop disturbing him.”

So I stopped.

My mother waited until almost dawn.

Every time footsteps passed her hospital room, she opened her eyes.

“Is Daniel here?”

And every time, I lied.

“He’s coming.”

Her last conscious words were:

“Don’t blame him. He must be busy.”

Daniel’s breathing became uneven.

“Emily, send me the address. I’m coming now.”

“No.”

“She treated me like a son.”

“Yes.”

That was precisely why I could no longer forgive him.

“I need to see her.”

“She needed to see you.”

He went silent.

I continued quietly:

“You had that chance.”

Then I ended the call.

Daniel arrived the following morning anyway.

He came carrying the supplements we had bought together.

My aunt opened the door.

The moment she saw him, she slapped him.

I didn’t stop her.

Daniel didn’t defend himself either.

His eyes were fixed on my mother’s photograph.

He slowly walked forward.

Then he fell to his knees.

For years, I had wanted him to understand my pain.

Now, watching him kneel there, I realized his regret changed nothing.

He lit three incense sticks.

His hands trembled.

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

I turned away.

Afterward, he found me outside.

“Emily.”

I kept walking.

He caught up.

“Please. Let me explain Claire.”

“There’s nothing left to explain.”

“That condom wasn’t mine.”

I stopped.

Daniel looked desperate.

“Claire left it in my car. She admitted it this morning.”

I stared at him.

“And you think that matters now?”

His face froze.

For months, I had believed Claire was the reason our marriage was dying.

Suddenly I understood something worse.

Even if Claire disappeared tomorrow, my mother would still be dead.

Daniel would still have missed her final days.

And I would still remember begging my husband to answer while he repeatedly chose somewhere else to be.

I took an envelope from my bag.

“What is this?”

“Divorce papers.”

His face drained of color.

“No.”

“I already signed.”

“Emily, please.”

“You told me yesterday we should reconcile.”

“I meant it!”

“I meant it too.”

My voice softened.

“That’s why I waited for you at the station.”

Daniel’s eyes reddened.

“I made one mistake.”

“No.”

I shook my head.

“You made the same choice many times. Yesterday was simply the last time I waited for a different answer.”

I placed the envelope in his hands.

Then my phone rang.

It was an unknown number.

I almost ignored it.

Something made me answer.

“Mrs. Foster?”

“Yes.”

“This is St. Matthew’s Hospital. I’m calling regarding your mother’s medical records.”

I frowned.

“What about them?”

There was a pause.

“We discovered an irregularity during an internal review.”

My stomach tightened.

“What irregularity?”

“The night your mother died, someone contacted the hospital and requested that her emergency procedure be postponed until a family authorization could be confirmed.”

I stopped breathing.

“That’s impossible. I was her authorized contact.”

“I know.”

The woman hesitated.

“That’s why we’re calling.”

Daniel was watching my face.

I turned away from him.

“Who made the request?”

“We traced the number.”

Another pause.

“It belonged to a woman named Claire Morgan.”

The world seemed to go silent.

Daniel heard the name.

His expression changed instantly.

But the hospital employee wasn’t finished.

“Mrs. Foster, there’s something else.”

“What?”

“Ms. Morgan claimed she was calling on behalf of your husband.”

I slowly turned toward Daniel.

He looked horrified.

And for the first time, the question was no longer whether Claire had tried to steal my husband.

It was whether she had deliberately interfered on the final night of my mother’s life—and why she had been so certain Daniel would protect her afterward.