My Funeral, His Destruction Stage

Tentu, saya akan menambahkan POV (Point of View) ke setiap bab sesuai dengan permintaan Anda, tanpa mengubah format atau konten lainnya.

On the day my daughter turned five, my husband Carter finally came home-with his mistress and a child who looked exactly like him.

He introduced me as the "mother of his child," not his wife, while my own parents fawned over his illegitimate daughter to secure a business merger.

I was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer, leaving me with months to live, yet no one cared.

The breaking point wasn't my illness, but seeing Carter slap our daughter across the face because she refused to give her first-place ribbon to his mistress's child.

"She disrespected me! I have a right to discipline my own daughter!"

He thinks I' m just a dying, discarded wife who will fade away quietly to make room for his new family.

He' s wrong.

I have three months left to live, and I' m going to spend every second of it burning his empire to the ground.

My funeral will be the stage for his destruction.

Chapter 1

Adelle POV

The day my daughter, Daisy, turned five, was the day my life shattered into a thousand pieces. I just didn' t know it yet. There was a dull throb behind my eyes, a constant companion these past few weeks, but I pushed it down. Today was for Daisy.

I glanced at my phone, the screen still dark. Carter. I had sent him a text hours ago, a simple request. "Daisy' s party starts at three. Please be here."

It was Daisy' s fifth birthday. And in a cruel twist of fate, it was also my forty-second. I hadn' t mentioned mine to anyone, not even to myself. It had been years since I expected any acknowledgment, any small gesture that said I mattered. My birthday had become just another date on the calendar, ignored, forgotten.

The phone vibrated. Hope flickered, then died. It was a weather alert. Not Carter.

Three o' clock came and went. Then three-thirty. Four.

Daisy, dressed in her favorite princess gown, kept running to the window, her tiny face pressed against the glass, eyes scanning the driveway. Each time, I felt a fresh stab of pain.

"Daddy will be here soon, sweetie," I' d say, my voice light, a lie I repeated until it tasted like ash.

My stomach twisted. He wasn't just late. He wasn't coming. I knew it in my bones. He always did this. Pushed the boundaries, broke the promises, then offered some flimsy excuse. But today, today felt different. My head throbbed, a drumbeat matching the frantic rhythm of my heart.

The anger was a slow burn, but beneath it, a crushing wave of despair. Was this my life? Chasing after a man who saw me as an inconvenience, a silent partner in a life he was actively trying to erase? I had dedicated years to building his empire, sacrificing my name, my talent, for his ambition. And for what? So he could disregard me, discard me?

The thought was a cold, hard stone in my chest. He wanted me gone. He wanted me replaced. The thought wasn't new, but today, it felt like a prophecy.

But Daisy. My beautiful, innocent Daisy. She deserved so much more than this hollow existence. She deserved a father who showed up, who loved her unconditionally. My heart squeezed. I would protect her, even if it meant tearing my own world apart.

"Mommy, is Daddy coming?" Daisy' s voice was small, wavering. Her lower lip trembled. The princess gown suddenly seemed too big, too bright for the storm clouds gathering in her eyes.

I knelt, pulling her close. "He might be very busy, sweetheart. But we have cake, and presents, and all your friends!" I forced a cheerful tone, plastering a smile on my face. It felt like my cheekbones would crack.

Suddenly, the front door burst open.

Daisy shrieked with delight. "Daddy!" She launched herself across the living room, a streak of pink tulle.

My heart leaped, a flicker of something I dared to call hope. He came. He actually came.

But then I saw her. Standing just behind Carter, a perfectly coiffed blonde woman with a forced smile, clutching the hand of a girl, no older than Daisy, who looked... exactly like Carter. The same sharp chin, the same intense eyes. My entire world tilted.

The blonde woman stepped forward, her voice saccharine sweet. "Oh, you must be Adelle. Carter' s... housekeeper?" Her eyes raked over my simple dress, then my bare ring finger, a cruel assessment.

Carter, standing beside her, didn' t correct her. He just looked at me, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "Adelle is... the mother of my child," he said, his tone dismissive, as if I were a distant relative he barely remembered.

My breath caught in my throat. Housekeeper? Mother of his child? Not wife? The words hit me like a physical blow, each syllable a shard of ice splintering in my chest. I had given him everything – my youth, my designs, my very identity. And this was my reward? To be reduced to a footnote in his new narrative?

Daisy, sensing the shift, slowly walked back to me, her small hand finding mine, squeezing tight. Her eyes, wide and innocent, darted between Carter, the woman, and the other girl. Confusion clouded their depths.

I remembered the early days, how I had believed in him, believed in us. How I had poured my soul into his architectural firm, letting him take all the credit, convinced that our love was credit enough. How stupid I had been. A tool. A means to an end. That' s all I ever was to him.

A cold, hard resolve began to solidify within me. The pain was still there, a searing burn, but it was overlaid with something new, something sharper. Fury.

"Carter," I said, my voice surprisingly steady, though my hands trembled. "Perhaps you could pay your housekeeper, then. For years of... dedicated service." My eyes met his, daring him to deny it.

He bristled, his handsome face tightening. "Adelle, don' t start this. Not today."

"Oh, but today is the perfect day, isn' t it?" I smiled, a chilling, humorless curve of my lips. "It' s my birthday, after all. And my daughter' s. Don' t you think I deserve a little something extra for the occasion?" I paused. "And please, don' t insult me with a check. I prefer cash. Hard cash for hard labor."

He stared at me, his jaw clenched, then sighed dramatically. He pulled out his wallet, peeling off a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills. He practically threw them at me. The money fluttered to the floor, a stark contrast to Daisy' s fallen princess crown.

"What a pity," I said, not even glancing at the scattered notes. "And here I thought I was asking for something more... substantial. Something like respect. Or, perhaps, a simple acknowledgement of my worth."

The blonde woman, Fernanda, I now knew, finally found her voice. "Carter, who is this woman? And why is she making such a scene?" She glared at me, her eyes flashing with a possessive anger. "Get her out of here!"

My head snapped up, my gaze locking onto hers. "Out of my house? I' m Adelle Moon Preston. This is my home. And you, Fernanda Sharpe, are nothing but a glorified mistress, bringing your illegitimate child into my living room."

Fernanda' s face crumpled. The little girl clutched Fernanda' s leg, her eyes wide with sudden terror.

Carter' s face went crimson. "Adelle, that' s enough!" he roared, his hand raised as if to strike me.

I didn' t flinch. I just tightened my grip on Daisy' s hand. "It' s enough when I say it' s enough, Carter. You can have your little mistress, you can have your little bastard child, but you will not do it under my roof. Get out. Both of you. Now."

Adelle POV

Carter' s eyes, usually calculating and cold, blazed with a fury I hadn't seen before. But beneath the anger, there was a flicker of something else-fear? Humiliation? He stood there, frozen, his chest heaving. Then, with a harsh glare that promised retribution, he grabbed Fernanda' s arm and pulled her and her terrified daughter out of the living room. The front door slammed shut, echoing through the sudden, suffocating silence.

Daisy, still clutching my hand, looked up at me, her face a mask of confusion and hurt. "Mommy, why did Daddy leave?" Her voice was barely a whisper, thick with unshed tears.

I knelt, pulling her close, burying my face in her sweet-smelling hair. "Daddy... Daddy just had something important to do, sweetie. It' s okay." My throat was tight, the lie burning on my tongue. How many more lies would I have to tell her to protect her from his cruelty?

But Daisy wasn't fooled. Her small body trembled. "Does Daddy not like me anymore?" A fresh wave of tears welled in her eyes. "He didn' t even give me a hug."

My heart twisted, a sharp, agonizing wrench. How could he? How could he be so utterly callous to his own daughter? Daisy' s tears started to fall, silent, stinging drops. I kissed the top of her head, my own eyes blurring. I had no words of comfort left. The well of hope had utterly run dry.

A single tear escaped, landing on Daisy' s soft hair. She sniffed, then slowly, carefully, her tiny finger reached up and brushed my cheek. "Mommy, don' t cry." Her voice was still small, but laced with a surprising maturity. "It' s my birthday."

Just then, the bedroom door creaked open. Carter emerged, his suit jacket rumpled, his hair a mess. He saw us, Daisy still silently weeping, my face streaked with tears, and a frown deepened on his face. He looked annoyed, as if our sorrow was an inconvenience.

"Adelle. We need to talk." His voice was low, flat, devoid of warmth.

I wiped my eyes roughly with the back of my hand, my voice hoarse. "What is there to talk about, Carter?"

He strode towards us, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over Daisy and me. His face was stone cold, his eyes chips of ice. "Don' t create a scene, Adelle. Don' t make yourself a victim." He paused, his gaze flicking to Daisy. "And don' t teach our daughter to be weak like you."

The words stole my breath. Weak? After everything I had endured, everything I had sacrificed? I stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing.

"Weak?" I whispered, the word tasting like bile. "Daisy asked why you didn' t hug her, Carter. She asked if you didn' t like her. What was I supposed to say? That her father chose his mistress and her child over his own daughter' s birthday?"

He scoffed. "She' ll get used to it. And don't you dare call Fernanda' s daughter 'another family member' again. She is not Daisy' s sister."

The implication hung heavy in the air. He wanted me to acknowledge that Fernanda' s child was his child, but not to grant her any relation to Daisy. He wanted his new life, his new family, to be separate, pristine, unblemished by the old. I was nothing more than a discarded relic.

A cold, weary understanding settled over me. "So, what is it you truly want, Carter?" I asked, my voice devoid of emotion. "The divorce papers? Is that why you' re here?"

He leaned down, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "I want you to sign the papers, Adelle. I want custody of Daisy, of course. For her sake. And I want you to disappear quietly. No drama. No public spectacle."

Exhaustion, bone-deep and soul-weary, washed over me. I was too tired to fight. "Fine," I whispered. "Whatever you want."

He straightened, a flicker of triumph in his eyes. "Good. See? It wasn' t so hard." He gave a curt nod, a dismissive wave of his hand. "I' ll have my lawyers draw up the papers. Don' t try to make it difficult." Then, without another word, he turned and left, the front door closing softly this time, a final, chilling punctuation mark.

I sat there, holding Daisy, my heart a shattered mess. The silence was deafening, punctuated only by my own ragged breaths and Daisy' s quiet sobs. My arms tightened around her, as if I could squeeze the pain out of both of us. But it was useless. The tears streamed down my face, silent, endless.

The birthday candles on the table flickered, then one by one, extinguished, leaving a faint trail of smoke. The last flicker of hope in our marriage died with those candles, leaving only a cold, hard resolve in its place.

I spent the rest of the night awake, Daisy asleep in my arms. The darkness of the house mirrored the darkness in my soul. I stared at the ceiling, every memory of Carter flashing through my mind, each one twisted by the new, brutal reality. The love I once felt for him, the hopes I had cherished for our future, all of it had turned to ash. I held Daisy tighter, the warmth of her small body the only thing keeping me from shattering, knowing I had to find a true escape, not just a different kind of prison. He had taken so much. But he would not take my daughter' s future. Adelle Moon was dead. A protector was born.

The next morning, Carter still hadn' t returned. I knew he wouldn' t. I dressed Daisy, took her to school, my face a carefully constructed mask.

Adelle POV

Carter hadn' t come home. Not that I was surprised. He liked to make grand, dramatic exits, then punish me with his absence. I knew his patterns. He would stay away for days, perhaps even a week, to make his point.

So when I walked through the front door of our apartment building that afternoon, after dropping Daisy off at school, I was completely unprepared for the sight that greeted me. The scent of something sweet and cloying, like burnt sugar, hung in the air. And there, in our kitchen, stood Carter.

He was wearing an apron. An apron! He was hunched over the stove, stirring something in a saucepan with a concentration I had rarely seen him apply to anything outside of his architectural blueprints. A children' s cookbook, dog-eared and splattered, lay open on the counter. He was making... a soufflé. For Fernanda' s child.

My stomach churned. Carter Preston, the man who considered ordering takeout a chore, was in my kitchen, attempting to bake a delicate dessert for his mistress' s child. It was a chore he had never once attempted for Daisy, or for me. Not once.

A fresh wave of nausea washed over me, a physical manifestation of the disgust and pain. I was glad Daisy wasn' t here to witness this charade. The image of her innocent face, so hopeful just yesterday, would have shattered completely. I could almost hear her small, confused voice: "Mommy, why is Daddy making that for her?"

Then, a small figure emerged from the living room, rubbing sleep from her eyes. It was Fernanda' s child. She ran to Carter, her voice bright and clear. "Daddy! Is it ready?" She hugged his leg, looking up at him with adoration.

Carter' s face softened, a genuine, tender smile I hadn't seen directed at our daughter in years curving his lips. He bent down, scooped her up, and kissed her forehead. "Almost, sweet pea. Just a few more minutes."

They looked like a perfect, happy family. A family he had built in secret, using the very foundations of my life. My eyes burned. Tears welled, hot and stinging, threatening to spill over.

I took a shaky breath, forcing myself to move forward. Each step felt heavy, as if I were wading through thick mud. I felt like an alien observer, an intruder in my own home, watching a play unfold where I had no part.

Carter still hadn' t turned around. He was completely absorbed in his new daughter, his new life.

Fernanda' s child, however, noticed me. Her eyes, so like Carter' s, narrowed. "Daddy, she' s staring at me," she whimpered, burying her face in Carter' s shoulder. "She looks scary."

Carter gently stroked her hair. "It' s okay, sweet pea. Daddy won' t let anyone hurt you." His voice was laced with a venomous sweetness, a clear message meant for me. Then, his eyes finally met mine, cold and hard. "Adelle. What are you doing here? Get out."

The words were a physical shove, pushing me back, making me feel small and unwanted. I was a trespasser in my own house. I watched him, this man I had loved, catering to this child with such tenderness, a tenderness he had denied Daisy. A bitterness, sharp as acid, rose in my throat. He was a doting father to one, a neglectful monster to another. It wasn' t just about the cooking. It was about the care, the affection, the love he was so readily giving to this other child, a love he had withheld from his own.

He had never loved me. Not truly. I was just a placeholder, a convenience, a means to an end. Now that I was no longer useful, he was discarding me like an old, worn-out possession. The realization hit me with the force of a tidal wave, drowning any lingering hope, any last shred of affection. I was useless. I was disposable.

The tears I had suppressed finally broke free, streaming down my face. I didn' t want them to see me like this. I turned abruptly, stumbling out of the kitchen, racing to the sanctuary of my bedroom. I slammed the door shut, the sound echoing through the apartment.

From behind the thin wood, I could hear their muffled laughter. Fernanda' s child' s delighted giggle, Carter' s deep, resonant chuckle. It was a symphony of betrayal, playing on a loop in my head. I sank to the floor, tears racking my body, silent, desperate sobs.

My illusions, painstakingly built over years of denial, had shattered completely. He wasn' t just having an affair; he was building a new life, a new family, right under my nose. A life where Daisy and I were emphatically excluded.

Divorce. It was the only way. But I knew Carter. He wouldn' t let go easily. Not of his carefully curated image, not of his claims to Daisy. The thought was a bitter, metallic taste in my mouth. He was probably already imagining his future, a perfect picture with Fernanda and her child, free from the burdens of his past.