The Wife Who Jumped on New Year's Eve

Two small urns sat side by side—Grandma Wilson and little Lily Bennett.

The last two people in this world who had ever loved Joanna Taylor.

She didn't have any tears left to cry.

And yet, the news blared on in the background—Ryan Bennett's first love, Crystal Lynn, was pregnant.

Perfect timing for a headline. It was New Year's Eve.

While the rest of the city sparkled with laughter and light, Joanna stood on the edge of the rooftop and jumped.

Ryan Bennett, may we never meet again. Not in this life. Not in the next.

Cradling the urns close, Joanna softly hummed a lullaby.

"Moon so bright, wind so light…"

Her grandmother used to sing it to her when she was a child.

Later, Joanna had sung it to Lily.

Now they were both gone.

Her heart was too shattered to feel anything at all.

The sound of footsteps snapped her back—Ryan stormed in, disgust written all over his face at the sight of her kneeling on the floor.

"Joanna, enough with the pity party."

He didn't even blink before throwing salt in the wound.

"Crystal saved my life. As Mrs. Bennett, the least you can do is act with some decency."

Joanna looked up at him, eyes hollow and empty.

Since Crystal came back, Ryan had turned into a stranger—staying out all night, lavishing attention on another woman like his wife didn't exist.

At first, Joanna tried. She fought to save their marriage.

But now?

Now she had lost everything.

There was nothing left to fight for.

Nothing left to love.

Nothing left to lose.

When she didn't respond, Ryan's irritation flared.

"You even raised Lily to be insufferable. What kind of mother were you?"

He said her name.

Lily.

The fire ignited in Joanna's chest.

Her voice cracked, sharp with grief.

"And what kind of father were you, Ryan?"

"Hate me all you want—curse me, slap me, I don't care," she seethed.

"But Lily was just a child. A seven-year-old child. How could you leave her alone at an amusement park?"

Her voice trembled, rising with every word.

"When they found her... her body was in pieces. Her eyes were still open."

Just remembering the look on her daughter's face felt like being ripped apart all over again.

She wasn't crying anymore. Her pain had turned to fury.

"You bastard. She waited for you. And you left her."

Ryan rolled his eyes with a scoff.

"Crystal sent someone to pick her up. Stop making stuff up."

Joanna stared at him in disbelief.

"All because I didn't drive you to see your dying grandmother," he added, his voice dripping with contempt, "you spin this sick little story?"

She shook with rage.

"No one came for her. She met a—"

"She only got hurt because she called Crystal a homewrecker," Ryan interrupted coldly. "She learned that from you."

"And you had to use the car that day," he added with mock sympathy. "Because Crystal had a hospital appointment. How convenient."

Joanna felt like the floor had dropped from beneath her.

She couldn't even speak.

But Ryan mistook her silence for surrender.

"Good. Take Lily's urn and apologize to Crystal."

And just like that, he turned and walked out, not even bothering to look back.

The cloying smell of lilies—Crystal's perfume—still hung in the air.

Joanna retched.

Apologize?

She would rather die.

She'd been orphaned young. Grandma Wilson had raised her with love and patience.

The day the old house collapsed, Grandma had called, begging for help.

But their fancy gated neighborhood didn't allow rideshare pickups.

Joanna had knelt, begged Ryan for the car.