Chapter 2-He with Scarlet

 Katelyn's POV The pastor’s voice echoed through the chapel, slow and calm, speaking words meant to comfort. I sat still in the last row, staring ahead, but none of it really touched me. All I could think about was how it had always been like this. My mother had eyes only for Derek. No matter what I did, top of my class, full scholarship, job promotions, it never seemed to matter. Derek would show up late to dinner, say nothing, and still get a proud smile from her. My father was no better. His affection had gone straight to Scarlett the moment she came into our lives.  And me? My mother once sold my bedroom furniture. My bed, my shelves, even my desk. Said she needed the money for Scarlett’s college fees. I had to pack everything into boxes and sleep on a mattress in the hallway until I left for school. That was the last time I really lived at home. After that, I only came back when I had to. For birthdays and holidays. Even then, I stayed just long enough to smile, say the right things, and leave before the air got too heavy. Now, sitting here at her funeral, I didn’t feel sorrow. Just the same dull ache of distance I’d carried for years. Even Lucas hadn’t made it easier.  I’d raised him mostly on my own at first, night feedings, doctor visits, reading bedtime stories through a sore throat but somehow, his world always tilted toward Ethan. A single smile or toy from his dad and I was pushed to the background. I’d thought, maybe after the funeral, I’d spend more time with Lucas. Make up for the days we’d been apart while he was staying with Marcus. Quietly, I stood from my seat. No one noticed. No one stopped me. I stepped into the back hallway and made my way toward the office behind the chapel. The funeral director was still there, finishing paperwork. “I’d like to settle everything today,” I told him. He blinked. “Oh… alright. Yes, of course. Let me pull the final invoice.” He handed me the folder. I reached into my bag and took out my card. I knew I didn’t have enough, but I paid anyway. She hadn’t been kind to me. Not as a mother.  But she gave me life.  I cleared the bill but because this was the last thing I owed. And now I didn’t owe anything. My phone buzzed in my bag as I handed over the card and signed the receipt. I pulled it out, expecting a late message from a friend or maybe something work-related. It was Ethan. [I have something to do and can’t attend your mother’s funeral.] He didn’t apologize. Didn’t explain. Just another cold line in a long list of them. I stared at the screen, but I wasn’t shocked. I couldn’t even say I was disappointed anymore. This was just how it was with him. No matter the occasion—birthdays, anniversaries, even moments like this—there was always something else more important. He’d cancel a dinner with me in seconds, yet fly across the country to deliver a single document in person. And now, with my mother gone, all he had to offer was a text that probably took him five seconds to type. It hit me then, if I died tomorrow, Ethan wouldn’t shed a tear. In his world, I didn’t matter. Not enough to show up for my mother’s funeral—and certainly not enough to mourn when I’m gone. The thought came so fast, I barely had time to brace for it. But it sat there, heavy, like a rock pressing down on my chest. My own family had frozen me out for years. My husband barely looked in my direction unless it was to hand off Lucas like a chore. And even my son, my little boy was drifting further and further away without even realizing it. I felt like I was locked inside an ice cave. Silent. Alone. Watching life go on around me while I stood still, frozen at the center of it. I tucked my phone back into my bag and walked slowly out of the office, down the hallway with walls lined with muted flower arrangements and framed photos of people I didn’t know, toward the back exit.  Returning to the chapel wasn’t in my plans; I felt like a fish out of water here, so I chose to go back early. As I passed the lounge area, a soft voice from the TV caught my attention. “…arrived just moments ago at the airport…” I paused. On the screen, a news segment was playing, the headline running across the bottom: Business Mogul Ethan West Welcomes International Designer Home. My feet stopped moving. There he was. Ethan. Standing in the center of the frame, holding a bouquet of white lilies. The camera followed him as he stepped forward and handed them to her—Scarlett. She wore a soft beige coat and sunglasses, her hair tied back like she was stepping out of a movie set. She smiled when she took the flowers. It wasn’t a polite smile—She looked genuinely happy. Her eyes lit up. And Ethan? His gaze never left her. He said something—her name, I think—and his voice cracked just enough for the mic to catch it. They hugged. Right there in the middle of the airport terminal, like no time had passed. Like this was the reunion he’d been waiting years for. He went to the airport to pick up Scarlett. This was indeed an “important matter” that couldn't be missed. The truth hit harder than I expected, even though a part of me had known all along. If it weren’t for what happened ten years ago— and the consequences that followed—Ethan would’ve never married me. And yet, I held on.  That if I just tried hard enough, stayed patient enough, gave enough of myself, he’d eventually look at me the way he looked at her. But now, watching him on the screen with her—so open, so gentle, so present—I finally saw it for what it was. He was never mine. And I was done pretending he was. I pulled out my phone again. My hand didn’t shake. My chest didn’t ache. I typed the message slowly, clearly, I stared at the words for a second longer, then tapped send. Let’s get a divorce.