My heart broke for Emily. I spent that night on my knees in front of Jane, replaying those apology videos, until she finally agreed—on the condition she'd finally give herself completely to Winston.
They went through the motions like a real couple, but Jane always stopped short of finality.
She prided herself on being a wife already, not wanting to cross a line.
That thought always brought to mind the old saying about a saint on the street but a sinner behind closed doors.
That was the real betrayal.
I had accepted my role, wearing the cuckold's horns, but she didn't even show up for the actual funeral.
I thought about gathering more evidence, confirming her death with the hospital, taking Jane to Emily's grave...
But then I stopped myself. Why bother?
Jane's bias was too deep, too ingrained to ever change. Let it go.
Seeing my defeated look, Jane thought she had the upper hand, smugly demanding, "Apologize to Winston, or I'm never attending that mock funeral."
I was speechless, utterly dumbfounded.
Doubting her sanity, I responded flatly, "Emily doesn't need it anymore. Just leave."
My patience had worn thin, civility long gone.