Delivering My Son's Ashes to His Father's Party

SAT day started like any other—until it didn't. For once, my workaholic husband Tyler Ford actually put down his laptop and offered to drive our son Charlie to school. I should've known it was too good to last.

Halfway there, his phone rang. Something "urgent" came up—something that apparently couldn't wait. He pulled over, dumped us on the curb, and sped off without a second glance.

No taxis. No time. We ran the rest of the way, but it wasn't enough. The doors were locked, the proctors stone-faced. "Late arrivals aren't admitted."

Charlie's face crumpled. Then his breathing did.

By the time we reached the ER, his asthma attack had spiraled into something worse—something critical. The doctors moved fast, but there was only one thing that could save him now: the experimental medication locked away at Tyler's company. The medication only he could access.

My hands shook as I dialed his number. A woman's voice answered—light, melodic, and utterly out of place. Joanna. His childhood sweetheart. His "what if."

"Tyler's busy," she said, like she had every right to screen his calls. "What do you want?"

I didn't have the bandwidth to process why she was with him. Not when Charlie's monitors were screaming in the background. "Put him on. Now. Charlie's in the ICU—he needs the company's specialty meds."

A pause. Then Tyler's voice, dripping with disdain: "Really? This again? You're pathetic."

The line went dead.

I redialed. Straight to voicemail.

The doctor emerged, face grim. "We're out of time. That medication—do you have it or not?"

My throat closed. "Two hours," he said. "That's all we've got."

Two hours.

I called Tyler's assistant, Zachary, voice cracking. "Please. Just tell me where he is."

Zachary hesitated. "He's at the animal hospital on Elm. But Wendy—"

I was already sprinting to my car.

The scene inside the clinic made my stomach twist. There was Tyler, cradling Joanna like she was made of glass, his thumb brushing tears off her cheek. The second he saw me, that tenderness hardened into ice.

"Christ, Wendy. Stalking me now?"

Joanna sniffled, pressing closer to him. "Your wife really can't take a hint, can she?"

I ignored her. "Charlie's dying. The meds—you're the only one who can access them. Please." I reached for him. He recoiled like I was contagious.

Joanna let out a theatrical sigh. "I get that you hate me, but faking your kid's death? That's low."

Tyler's jaw tightened. "Enough. My dog's leg is crushed, Joanna's a wreck, and you're here pulling this stunt? Get out."

The room tilted. "You think I'd make this up? Call the hospital! They'll tell you—"

"Tyler!" Joanna wailed. "Dobby's bleeding again! The vet says he needs surgery NOW!"

Tyler didn't hesitate. He scooped up the whimpering Pomeranian, shoulders squared for battle.

I dropped to my knees. "Please. Charlie doesn't have two hours. You're his father—"

Joanna cut in, voice saccharine. "Funny how Charlie's 'dying' the second Tyler's needed elsewhere. Dobby's the one bleeding out here!"