The Ex-Wife He Can't Get Over

Katelyn's POV

It was a little after 1 p.m. when I got to the funeral venue. The sky was overcast.

Most of the guests were already seated, and several heads turned as I walked in late.

My phone buzzed with another message-one of many generic condolences I'd been receiving for days.

But the one person I was hoping to hear from-even just a lazy "sry"-sent nothing.

Not a word. Not even a period.

Ethan--My husband.

The one person who should've been by my side today... couldn't even be bothered to send a text.

I stared at the screen longer than I should have, hoping maybe something would pop up. It didn't.

And somehow, even though I'd seen this kind of coldness from him before, it still hurt.

Disappointed, I slipped my phone back into my clutch and straightened up in time to spot Derek.

Derek was tall. Standing at 6 foot 7, he was often mistaken for a basketball player. His tall frame moved determinedly like a storm, crossing the aisle in just a few strides, cutting through people without apology. He didn't even wait until we were out of earshot.

"You're late." His voice was low but hard-edged. "Mom waited for you for years, and you couldn't even show up on time for this?"

"I got delayed," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "The flight-"

"Don't," he snapped. "Don't blame the flight, Katelyn. You knew what today was."

"I do know," I said tightly. "Believe it or not, I'm the one who lost a mother too."

His jaw tightened. "Oh yeah? Then where's your loving husband? Shouldn't he be here, holding your hand, playing the grieving son-in-law?"

I froze. Our father, Marcus, was now beside Derek, though his eyes were bloodshot and his gaze held no warmth as he looked at me.

"Where is Ethan?" he asked.

"He-he's stuck in meetings," I lied. "He couldn't-"

"Meetings?" Derek scoffed. "Seriously? Your mother dies, and he's too busy to pay his respects? Is that the excuse you're running with?"

"Can we not do this here?" I whispered, glancing at the rows of people behind us. "This isn't the time."

"Oh, I think it is," he said, not bothering to lower his voice. "Do you think none of us noticed? Every time you try to reach him, you have to go through his secretary. You don't even get your husband on the phone without scheduling an appointment. That's not a marriage, Katie. That's a f**king performance."

I swallowed hard. I wasn't ready for this. At least not today.

But Derek kept going. "You're hanging on by threads and pretending it's a rope. Wake up. He doesn't give a damn about you. He didn't even bother to show up for Mom's funeral. You really think he sees this family as his?"

"Stop it," I hissed. "That's enough."

Derek stared at me, jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. I could tell he wanted to say more, but our father put a hand on his shoulder, quietly pulling him back.

I looked away, not trusting my voice. My stomach twisted as a heavy knot formed right behind my ribs. I reached for the only thing that could pull me back from the edge.

"Where's Lucas?" I asked in the most normal tone I could manage. "Did someone bring him inside already?"

No one answered.

My father sighed and pointed to the row behind him.

"He's there," he said. "He didn't want to sit at the front."

Following the direction of his hand, I spotted my son in the corner pew. He was half-hidden behind a woman's hat. His small fingers were pushing a toy car across the bench, completely absorbed in his own world.

A lock of his ebony hair flopped over an eye in his bent state, and his jaw was bobbing as his lips shifted from a buzz to a round shape, probably from making engine sounds to himself.

A slow pain crept into my chest. I hadn't seen him in days.

Because the flu had been severe where I lived, I'd entrusted Lucas to Marcus to take care of him these past few days.

Now, seeing him so absorbed in his world, I just missed him terribly.

I missed him-missed the sound of his laugh, the way his fingers curled into mine without hesitation.

I walked over slowly. "Lucas," I said softly.

He looked up. The moment his eyes landed on me, his face lit up.

"Mom!"

He scrambled to his feet and threw his arms around my waist. I bent down, hugging him tightly. He smelled like fresh laundry and crayons.

"I missed you," I murmured into his hair.

"I missed you too," he said. "Grandpa's been helping me with my drawing.

Wanna see?"

"Of course."

He sat back down and pulled a folded piece of paper from the back pocket of his pants. It was a mess of colors-red scribbles, a blue stick figure, and something that might've been a flower.

"It's for Aunt Scarlett," he said proudly. "I'm making her a welcome-back gift."

My smile froze.

How could I forget? Of course my sister would be back for the funeral.

Lucas beamed as he held up the drawing, then gave a quick nod like he was proud of himself. "She's coming home today! Daddy knows, too. "

He leaned in a little, lowering his voice like it was a big secret. "He told me not to tell anyone 'cause it's a surprise." He giggled. "Oops."

I forced a smile, brushing his hair off his forehead. "It's okay. Your secret's safe with me."

He grinned and went back to coloring.

I stood up slowly, stepping back toward the hallway as I pulled out my phone. The number was still saved under "MY LOVE."

I hit call. It rang once. Then twice.

"If you need something, call my assistant . I'm still busy." Ethan said flatly, his tone as cold as the wind biting at my skin.

Before I could say anything, the line went dead.

I stared at the screen. No message. No callback. Not that I expected one. It wasn't even sadness anymore. Just a dull, constant hum-like background noise I'd learned to live with.

****

The sound of a microphone tapping echoed softly across the chapel.

"The pastor's about to speak," someone whispered.

People began shifting in their seats, settling down, murmurs fading into silence. I turned back toward the pews, scanning for an open spot.

Lucas was still sitting where I'd left him, his toy tucked into the crook of his arm. I walked toward him, planning to slide in next to him. But just a few feet away, I stopped.

He was talking.

"This seat's for Aunt Scarlett," he said, patting the empty space beside him.

My heart thumped once-loud and slow.

Derek leaned in. "That's right, bud. Your mom's been way too hard on Scarlett anyway."

I didn't breathe.

Then came my father's voice, low but clear. "Not just you, Lucas-everyone likes Scarlett. How about letting her be your mom?"

Lucas nodded at them like it all made sense.

I couldn't move. Couldn't speak.

I just stood there, a few steps away, invisible in plain sight.

My legs felt numb, but I couldn't bring myself to sit down-or even pretend I hadn't heard.

I just stood there, suddenly aware of how cold the chapel had become and suddenly clear about how unimportant I was to my family, including my own son.

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.

Katelyn's POV

By the time the sun dipped below the trees and the house lights started to glow, I heard the front door open.

Ethan was back.

His voice came through the hallway, casual as ever. "Lucas? Where's your mom?"

I stayed upstairs.

"She went upstairs," Lucas said quietly. "She looked upset."

I didn't make my way down to greet him like I usually would. Instead, I gave myself the luxury of brushing my hair methodically at the dressing table-not because I cared how I looked, but because it gave me something to do with my hands.

A minute later, the door opened behind me.

Ethan walked in, slow like he was testing the air. I caught his reflection in the mirror. He scanned the room, then looked at me. I didn't turn around.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, resting his hands on his knees.

Normally, by now, there'd be a full dinner waiting for him downstairs. I'd have poured his tea, laid out clean towels, maybe even drawn a bath if the day had been long.

But today, I did none of that.

I stayed quiet.

He rubbed his forehead, his movements slower than usual. He looked tired-but not in a way that made me feel sorry for him. Just in a way that showed up when someone had used all their energy somewhere else.

Eventually, he got up and headed into the bathroom.

I heard the water running. Fifteen minutes passed. Then the sound of the shower shutting off.

When he came back out, he grabbed a towel and dried his hair, standing near the door.

"I'm sorry I couldn't make it today," he said, voice low. "About your mom."

I glanced at him through the mirror.

He wasn't even looking at me when he said it.

And his tone-flat. Like he was checking something off a list.

I looked at him steadily through the mirror and said calmly.

"I want a divorce."

Ethan froze.

He lowered the towel in his hands and stared at me like he wasn't sure he'd heard me right.

"You're kidding," he said after a second.

I turned slightly toward him. "Do I look like I'm kidding?"

He stepped forward, half-laughing under his breath. "Didn't you just say a few days ago that you wanted to work? Now you're making a fuss about divorce?"

"You don't see the connection?" I asked quietly.

He shook his head. "So what's this really about? You're tired of being a rich man's wife? Is it that boring for you?"

I stood up from the dressing table.

"You think I should be grateful," I said, looking him in the eye.

"You should be," he said. "Do you know how many people out there would trade places with you in a heartbeat? You live in comfort, everything's taken care of, and all you have to do is-what? Sit around and complain when things don't go your way?"

I gave a small, humorless laugh. "Right. Because that's what this is to you-me complaining.There's no other CEO's wife who has to ask his secretary just to get on the phone with her husband. Or who has to explain herself every time she wants to buy something. I once had to ask you for money just to get bread."

He stared at me like I'd slapped him.

"If you leave," he said slowly, "what kind of life do you think you'll have? You think you'll be happy? You think the world's going to roll out a red carpet for a single mom who walked out on her marriage?"

"It might be hard," I said, my voice steady. "But I won't regret it."

I turned away and walked to the closet. I grabbed a suitcase and started unzipping it.

But before I could reach for anything else, he stepped in front of me and blocked the path.

I looked up, expecting him to argue again, but he didn't say anything right away. He just stood there, eyes locked on mine, arms stiff at his sides.

Neither of us moved.

The silence stretched.

Then, finally, Ethan spoke-his voice lower, more controlled.

"This is about Scarlett, isn't it?" he said. "You're mad because I went to pick her up."

I stayed quiet, my hands still resting on the suitcase.

He stepped closer. "Why don't you just say it? Just admit it. You've always hated that she and I had something real. You came into my life and took it away."

I lifted my eyes to his. "I didn't take anything. You made your choices."

He didn't answer right away.

But something in his expression changed.

The man standing in front of me wasn't composed anymore. His jaw clenched hard, and his eyes darkened-not with sadness or frustration, but something raw, unfiltered. It was like watching a mask fall away. The polite, camera-ready Ethan-the one who knew exactly when to smile, when to say the right line-was gone.

What stood there now was someone I didn't recognize.

And before I could move, he surged forward and kissed me.

It wasn't a kiss-it was a collision.

His hand gripped my arm tight, pulling me toward him like he could bend the air between us to his will. His mouth was rough, urgent, full of something he didn't want to say out loud. It was aggressive, like he was trying to erase everything between us-our silence, my anger, the truth-with just the pressure of his lips.

I yanked myself back, breath caught somewhere in my throat. "You bastard."

He stared at me, unbothered, eyes still locked on mine. "Yeah. I am."

His eyes locked on mine. "And right now, I'm about to do something only a bastard would do."

Before I could respond, he grabbed my face and kissed me again. Hard.

My hands pushed against his chest, but his hold didn't loosen. His mouth pressed to mine with rough insistence, the kind that ignored resistance and erased space. My body stiffened, shocked by the sudden closeness.

A rush of heat climbed up my neck, fast and unexpected. I froze.

I didn't lean in, but I didn't pull away fast enough either.

My breath caught. My pulse jumped. For a second, the room felt smaller, the air heavier.

His grip, his warmth, the sheer force of it-it overwhelmed my senses before I could think clearly. I wasn't sure what startled me more: the kiss, or the way my body reacted to it without asking my permission.