We built our life together in Austin, purchasing a modern condo that we lovingly renovated. My career continued to flourish, and I was eventually promoted to Vice President. Dan’s investment firm also grew, and he began to specialize in funding women-led tech startups. During a dinner with some of his business associates, I learned something that connected my past and present in a shocking way. An angel investor was reminiscing about working with Ethan years ago.
— Hayes? Yeah, he and Dan Cole had a major rivalry in the investing world about seven years back. Cole backed the right horse, a startup called Synergy Core. Hayes backed their main competitor, Digital Frontier. Synergy Core got acquired for a fortune. Digital Frontier went bankrupt.
Later that night, I asked Dan about it.
— I was always going to tell you — he admitted. — I knew who you were when we first met at that conference. I didn’t know the specifics of what had happened, but I knew you had been engaged to Ethan Hayes.
— Why didn’t you say anything?
— I wanted you to get to know me for who I am, not as someone connected to your past.
I wasn’t angry. In a strange way, the cosmic symmetry of it all felt right.
Two years into our marriage, we started trying to have a baby. Months went by with no success, which led to appointments with fertility specialists and emotionally taxing conversations. Through all the disappointments and invasive medical procedures, Dan was my unwavering rock, holding me when I cried and constantly reminding me that a family can be built in many different ways.
Then came the phone call that shattered our world: my mother’s cancer diagnosis. Dan and I were on the next flight to Denver, meeting with her oncologists and helping my parents navigate the bewildering world of treatment options. My mother was brave, but the cancer was mercilessly aggressive and had already metastasized. I took a leave of absence from work and temporarily moved back into my childhood home to care for her. Dan flew in every weekend, providing support not just for me, but for my increasingly frail father.
In her final weeks, my mother and I shared precious, heart-wrenching conversations about life, love, and forgiveness. One evening, as I was plumping her pillows, she gently brought up the topic of Megan.
— I wish you girls could find your way back to each other — she said, her voice thin but resolute. — Life is just too short to hold onto that kind of distance between sisters.
— I know, Mom — I replied, swallowing the lump in my throat.
— Promise me you’ll try, Jessica. Not for her, but for yourself. And maybe just a little bit for your old mom.
I promised. I didn’t know if I could keep it, but I wanted to give her that peace. Three days later, my mother passed away peacefully with Dan, my father, and me by her side. I called Megan immediately, our first direct conversation in years.
— Mom’s gone — I said as soon as she picked up.
There was a sharp, pained intake of breath on the other end of the line, followed by a long silence.
— I’ll be there in an hour — she finally said, her voice cracking.
We met at our parents’ house, sharing a brief, stilted hug before turning our focus to our grieving father and the daunting task of arranging the funeral. The true test, I knew, would come at the service itself, where years of simmering resentment and anger would collide with the raw, fresh pain of our loss and the weight of our mother’s final wish.
The morning of my mother’s funeral was gray and damp, the weather a perfect reflection of the somber mood. I stood in front of the mirror in my childhood bedroom, smoothing the fabric of my black dress and mentally preparing myself for the ordeal ahead. Dan came up behind me, looking impossibly handsome in his dark suit, and placed his hands on my shoulders.
— I’m right here with you, every step of the way — he said, his eyes meeting mine in the reflection.
Downstairs, my father was sitting at the kitchen table, his gaze lost in an untouched cup of coffee. The past week had hollowed him out; at seventy-two, his once-imposing frame seemed to have shrunk.
— Ready, Dad? — I asked gently, placing a hand on his shoulder.
He nodded, rising with a heavy sigh.
— Your mother always said funerals aren’t for the dead, they’re for the living. I never really understood what she meant until now.
The funeral home was already crowded with friends and family when we arrived. I stayed close to my father’s side, offering mechanical smiles and accepting condolences from people I hadn’t seen in years. There were cousins from California, my mother’s old college roommate, and neighbors who had lived on their street for decades.
— You look so much like Claire at your age — my great-aunt Carol said, her hand patting my cheek. — She would be so proud of the woman you’ve become.
— How have you been, dear? — asked Mrs. Davis, a friend of my mother’s. — Claire mentioned you’d moved away. Austin, wasn’t it?
— Yes, it’s been almost five years now — I replied, carefully omitting the fact that my sister’s betrayal was the reason for my move.
As I was helping my father to his seat in the front row, with Dan on his other side, a distinct murmur swept through the room. I turned and saw them. Megan and Ethan had just walked in, their arrival causing heads to turn and whispers to erupt. Megan was wearing a ridiculously expensive black designer dress that clung to her thin frame, her diamond earrings flashing under the dim lights. Ethan looked deeply uncomfortable in his perfectly tailored suit, his arm possessively wrapped around my sister’s waist. Her left hand was deliberately placed on her purse, making it impossible to miss the massive engagement ring and wedding band.
My father stiffened beside me.
— Robert, just breathe — I whispered, suddenly terrified for his heart.
They slowly made their way down the aisle, pausing to speak with various mourners. I kept my gaze fixed forward, concentrating on the large, smiling photograph of my mother displayed next to her casket. Eventually, they reached our row. Megan embraced our father, who returned the gesture with a rigid formality. Ethan shook his hand and received a curt nod in reply.
— Jessica — Megan said, turning to me with an unreadable expression. — It’s been a long time.
— Yes, it has — I answered simply, not trusting myself to say more.
Ethan nodded at me awkwardly.
— Sorry for your loss.
Dan had stepped away to confer with the funeral director, leaving me exposed and alone with them for a moment. Megan pounced on the opportunity.
— I need to talk to you for a second, in private — she said, nodding toward a small side room.
Against my better judgment, I followed her, my only motivation being the desire to avoid a public scene. The room was small and spartan, clearly intended for grieving family members. Megan shut the door firmly behind us. Up close, I could see the fine lines of stress around her eyes that her heavy makeup failed to conceal.
— You look thin — she observed, her eyes raking over me with a critical air.
— Grief will do that — I replied, my voice flat.
She began to nervously twist the diamond on her finger.
— Ethan and I just bought a summer house on Lake Travis. Eight bedrooms, private boat dock.
I remained silent, baffled as to why she thought this was appropriate information to share at our mother’s funeral.
— We’re thinking about starting a family soon — she pressed on. — Ethan’s company just acquired two new startups, so we’re converting the entire third floor of our house into a nursery.
— Congratulations — I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion. — Was there something you wanted to discuss regarding the funeral arrangements?
Her smile became sharp and cruel.
— I just figured you’d want to know how well we’re doing. Poor you, still single at thirty-eight. I ended up with the man, the money, and the mansion.
The familiar sting of her words flared for a brief second, and then, just as quickly, it was gone. Six years ago, that comment would have shattered me. Today, it just sounded pathetic. I offered her a genuine, unforced smile.
— Oh, haven’t you met my husband yet? — Her smug expression faltered. — Husband? Dan! — I called, opening the door to find him waiting patiently in the hallway. — Come and meet my sister.
As Dan stepped into the room, Ethan appeared behind him, having clearly been eavesdropping on our conversation. The moment the two men made eye contact, all the color drained from Ethan’s face.
— Cole — he stammered, his confident facade crumbling.
— Hayes — Dan’s tone was coolly professional. — It’s been… what, seven years? Not since Synergy Core got that acquisition instead of your client, Digital Frontier, right?
Ethan swallowed hard.
— You two… you’re married?
— Two wonderful years — I confirmed, slipping my hand into Dan’s.
— Daniel Cole… — Megan repeated the name slowly, the realization dawning on her. — As in, Cole Investments?
— The one and a same — Dan replied. — Jessica and I met at a tech conference in San Francisco.
Ethan scrambled to regain his composure.
— Cole, we should connect sometime. I’ve been meaning to reach out about some potential collaborations.
— My schedule is pretty tight these days — Dan answered pleasantly but firmly. — But feel free to have your people contact my office.
The funeral director appeared at that moment, informing us that the service was about to begin. As we walked back into the main chapel, a new wave of whispers followed us, the history between Dan and Ethan clearly being a well-known story in their business circles. We had just settled into our seats when my father suddenly gasped, clutching his chest, his face contorting in agony.
— Dad! — I cried out, as Dan immediately shouted for someone to call 911.
We ushered my father into a private room, temporarily halting the service. A doctor who was attending the funeral examined him and determined that it was most likely a severe anxiety attack, not another heart attack. Megan followed us into the room, her face a mask of genuine terror.
— Is he okay? Should we call an ambulance? — her voice was trembling.
— The doctor said he’s stable — I replied, taken aback by her sincere panic. — Just overwhelmed.
For twenty tense minutes, we sat together in a heavy, awkward silence, our shared concern for our father the only thing connecting us. When he insisted that he was well enough to proceed, we returned to the chapel, the brief medical crisis having forged an unspoken and temporary truce.