My Mistress Ordered My Funeral While I Was Still Alive Chapter 08

My Mistress Ordered My Funeral While I Was Still Alive Chapter 08

Three months passed in a blur, and autumn bled 

into a biting winter. 

Outside Crestview Apartments, the ginkgo leaves 

had turned a vibrant yellow, carpeting the streets 

in shattered gold whenever the wind caught them. 

After the divorce, I moved back into the old 

property my mother had left behind. 

I also opened a small office down in The South 

End. 

The studio didn’t have a flashy name. 

The sign simply read: [Deceased Effects Organizer 

& Grief Support]. 

My attorney classmate had reached out to me after learning about my counseling focus, noting that many of her clients going through bitter divorces or estates desperately needed emotional 

support. 

She asked if I wanted to partner with her firm, and 

I agreed. 

The studio was tucked away in a quiet, secluded neighborhood, which kept foot traffic low, but the 

referral partnership immediately brought in my 

first client. 

She was a woman in her early thirties. 

During our first session, she sat across from me, her knuckles white as she gripped the strap of her purse. 

I could see the agonizing conflict playing out in her eyes. Instead of pressing her, I quietly stood up and poured her a glass of warm water. 

The small gesture broke the tension. 

She took a slow sip, let out a ragged sigh, and told me her husband was sleeping with someone else. 

Tears instantly flooded her eyes the moment the 

words left her mouth. 

“I just can’t accept it, you know?” she whispered. 

She began recounting how they met back in 

college. 

She explained how she had always been the 

invisible, introverted girl next to her popular 

roommate. 

Guys would only approach her to get to her friend. 

Except for him. He was just as shy and awkward 

as she was, and they bonded during a campus 

club event. 

The day he confessed his feelings was the 

happiest day of her life, even though she spent 

years waiting for the other shoe to drop, terrified 

he was just using her. 

They graduated, rented a cheap apartment, and 

built a quiet, happy life together. 

As his career skyrocketed, she thought they had 

made it. 

Until she saw him holding another woman’s hand 

on the street. 

She couldn’t erase the image from her mind, it 

haunted her dreams every single night. 

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked, her eyes 

raw and bloodshot. 

“Two years. He was with her for two whole years 

while I was completely in the dark.” 

“How do I stop punishing myself for his mistake?” 

I don’t entirely remember what I told her that day. 

I might have shared a piece of my own story, or 

maybe I just sat with her in the silence for a very 

long time. 

By the time she left, she looked grounded. She 

promised to return the following week. 

But a week later, she didn’t show up. Instead, she 

called. 

Her voice over the line was incredibly calm. 

“I filed the papers,” she said. 

“My mom asked me how I could just throw away 

so many years of history. I told her some lives 

aren’t worth continuing.” 

I was genuinely happy for her, and we talked for a 

long time before hanging up. 

After the call ended, I sat at my desk, staring at the 

wall. 

No one should ever punish themselves for 

someone else’s sins. 

Suddenly, my phone buzzed with a breaking news 

notification. 

I slid it open, looking for a distraction, only to see a massive headline about The Sterling Group. 

Local Corporate Giant The Sterling Group Under 

Investigation for Massive Financial Fraud. 

CEO Harrison Sterling Cooperating with Federal 

Authorities. 

The comment sections were a feeding frenzy. The 

public always loved watching an empire fall. 

I scrolled through a few threads before the noise 

of it all began to tire me, and I locked the screen. 

Another week passed. At exactly six in the 

evening, I locked up the studio and turned to head 

back to my apartment. 

That was when I noticed a figure sitting on the 

concrete steps across the street. 

Even from a distance, I recognized him instantly. 

It was Harrison. 

He had lost an immense amount of weight. 

His hair was cut brutally short, and he was 

wearing a faded gray jacket. 

The untouchable, arrogant aura of the Sterling 

empire was completely gone. 

The moment he saw me, he scrambled to his feet 

so fast he had to steady himself against the brick 

wall. 

“Evelyn. You’re off work.” 

I walked right past him, keeping my eyes fixed 

ahead. 

He hurried to catch up, falling into step beside me. 

“I’ve been looking for you for months.” 

“Your number was blocked. I couldn’t reach any of 

your friends.” 

I didn’t slow my pace. “Do you need something?” 

He went quiet for a few paces. 

“No.” 

“I just wanted to see you.” 

A few seconds later, he said, “My mother reminded 

me today… it’s your birthday.” 

My shoe caught the edge of a slick ginkgo leaf, 

and I stumbled slightly. 

Harrison instinctively reached out to catch my arm, but I pulled away before he could touch me. 

His hand froze in the empty air. 

“Oh.” 

“I forgot.” 

We walked in a heavy, suffocating silence, me 

leading the way and Harrison trailing a step 

behind like a shadow. 

When we reached the intersection, the rich, savory 

smell of garlic and oil drifted over from a bustling diner across the street. 

The place was packed, radiating warmth and ordinary life. 

Harrison glanced at it, his voice dropping low. 

“Let me buy you dinner. Right around the corner.” 

“I’m busy.” 

“Tomorrow then. Or the day after. I’m free 

whenever you…” 

“Harrison Sterling.” 

He cut himself off instantly. 

I stopped and looked at him. 

“Do you honestly think this fixes anything? Or do 

you think if you stand out here looking pathetic 

enough, my heart will soften?” 

The remaining color drained from his face. 

“I don’t know what else to do, Evelyn.” 

“Then do nothing.” 

I turned and kept walking. 

This time, he didn’t follow immediately. 

It wasn’t until I was dozens of paces down the 

sidewalk that his voice carried through the wind. 

“I surrendered my position at The Sterling Group.” 

“My uncle took over the controlling shares.” 

“My grandmother disowned me. She said I ruined the family name.” 

“Amber Vance texted me once,” he shouted into 

the distance. 

“She asked how I could tell the world I was single 

when I had a wife at home. I never replied.” 

I paused for a fraction of a second, but I didn’t turn 

around. 

“Last month, I went back to the hospital where you 

miscarried,” his voice started to fracture, trembling 

violently against the cold. 

“I tried to get copies of your medical records. The front desk told me they required authorization 

from the patient. I told them I was your husband.” 

“They told me the system said otherwise.” 

The winter wind slammed down the avenue, biting 

at my skin. 

“Evelyn, I haven’t slept a single night in three months. Every time I close my eyes, all I see is you. You standing in that kitchen asking what was in the tonic. You dropping your ring on the table. You walking out into the dark with your suitcase.” 

I finally turned around. 

Harrison stood under the dim streetlamp, his eyes fiercely bloodshot. 

“From the very beginning, you always assumed I 

would never leave,” I said. 

“You thought I would always be waiting. That 

would make excuses for you. That if you just 

dropped a few tears, everything you did would just 

blow over.” 

He slowly sank to his knees right there on the 

pavement, as if the weight of his own skin was too 

heavy to carry. 

I walked back toward him, stopping a few feet away, and knelt down to meet his gaze. 

“Harrison, I don’t hate you. Hating takes energy, 

and I refuse to waste another second of my life on 

you.” 

“Don’t come looking for me again.” 

“And stop putting on this miserable performance for my benefit.” 

“We ended a long time ago.” 

I stood up and walked away, leaving nothing 

behind but the sound of the winter wind. 

As I approached my building, my phone vibrated in 

my coat pocket. 

It was a notification from a delivery app letting me know a package had arrived at my door. 

Right after, two texts popped up from my college 

friends. 

[Evelyn, happy birthday! Did the cake we ordered arrive? We’re leaving work late, but we’re coming over to celebrate with you!] 

A genuine warmth flooded my chest. I quickly 

typed back a reply: 

[It’s here! Bring the beer tonight. We’re staying up 

late.]