My daughter suffered carbon monoxide poisoning and urgently needed to be taken to the hospital. However, the ambulance was blocked by my wife's car.

She was carrying the man she had always loved, who only had a cold. She refused to move and even got into a fierce argument with the paramedics. She said, "Whether your patient lives or dies has nothing to do with me. I have a patient in my car as well. Why should I give way?"

In the end, my daughter missed the critical window for treatment and passed away.

From that moment on, my heart was completely dead. I took my wife to court.

I cradled my daughter's lifeless body, the pain embedded so deep that I could not even find the tears to cry. The doctor's words haunted me.

"If only you'd been ten minutes earlier, maybe she could've been saved."

Out of nowhere, my wife Sheila Chapman's call broke through, my hands shaking as I picked up.

"Hey, Tristan, it's just you and the kiddo for dinner tonight. I can't make it back. Jeff's down with a nasty fever, hit thirty-nine degrees. It's pretty bad."

"Sheila, our little girl... she's gone."

My voice was eerily calm, laced with despair. I had no desire left to live, cursing myself for not being able to join my daughter.

"You're not making sense, Tristan. If you're sick, go to the doctor. Don't play around with our daughter's life."

"Sheila..." I could not contain it anymore and let out a roar, "You killed our daughter! If you have any heart left, get over to Somerset General Hospital now!"

"What's gotten into you, Tristan? Jealous again? Well, let me make this clear, even if you and our daughter were both dead, I'd still be here with Jeff."

The call ended with Sheila's harsh words. She hung up.

I realized I was blocked when I tried to call back.

Finally, I let go of all the pent-up grief, sobbing uncontrollably as I held my daughter's icy body.

I could not wrap my head around how Sheila could choose a man over us.

How could she ever think I would joke about our daughter's life?

I was the one who had been there since day one, watching our daughter go from crawling to her first steps, from her first words to calling out for 'daddy' and 'mommy'. I had been there until she turned five.

She would stay five forever.

It was all Sheila's doing. If she had not forgotten to turn off the gas after making that late-night soup for Jeff, our daughter would not have succumbed to the silent killer that was carbon monoxide.

If that guy had not blocked the ambulance, if we had not lost precious time, my daughter might still be alive.

She believed I was just being petty, making a cruel joke at the expense of our daughter's life.

I was in a fog as I handled my daughter's final arrangements. When I got back home with her ashes, the place was a mess.

Lacy bras, panties, skirts, jeans: they were scattered from the living room all the way to our bedroom door.

From inside, I could hear sickening sounds.

"Come on. Tristan might be back soon, and my daughter's about to get out of school."

"Alright, sweetheart. Call me 'hubby' so I can hear it."

"Ugh, hubby~"

My hands were fists so tight that my nails were cutting into my palms.

After setting down my daughter's urn, I went to the kitchen and grabbed a knife.

I kicked the bedroom door open and there they were, bare as the day they were born.

"Ah, hubby! You… Why are you back?"

Sheila scrambled for the covers, trying to hide, while Jeff was drenched in sweat, clumsily trying to get his pants on.

My eyes were red with rage as I stepped toward them, knife in hand.

"Tristan, what are you doing?" Sheila's voice shook as she screamed at me.

However, I was beyond reason.

"I'm going to kill you both."

I swung the knife at Jeff, but he was quick. He grabbed the nightstand and hurled it at me. It hit me before I could get out of the way.

He grabbed Sheila and they bolted for the door.

I chased after them, pain ripping through me, and then I was hit by something that made my insides turn to ice.

It was Chloe's urn. I tried to catch it, but it fell, hitting the ground with a sound that echoed through my hollow heart.

My heart might as well have stopped, and my mind was a blank slate. I just stared at the urn, the reality of it all too much to bear.

The lid had come off, and her ashes were spread out on the floor.

Trembling, I reached out to gather what remained of my little girl. My hands would not stop shaking, no matter how hard I tried to steady them.

When I looked up again, Sheila and Jeff were gone, vanished into thin air.

That was when I lost it, tears streaming down my face. I made a silent vow right then and there that I would never let Sheila find her daughter. Not ever.

That night, Sheila's voice came through the phone.

"Tristan, you know everything now, so let's just end this and get a divorce. I don't care about the property, but I want Chloe. You know about my health issues, how hard the birth was on me. I might not be able to have more kids."

"Don't worry," she added, "Jeff will love Chloe like she's his own."

I could not help but snort and say, "Sure."

Maybe I agreed too quickly because Sheila went silent for what felt like forever.

I was about to hang up when she finally whispered, "I'm sorry."

I laughed, a bitter sound, and cut the call. She had a lot to be sorry for.

Six years back, Jeff ditched her at the altar for his big dreams abroad, leaving her dad to have a stroke that paralyzed him.

She turned to me in her rage, making me her plan B, using me to get over Jeff.

I gave up my job for her, looked after her dad for three years until he passed. Only then did I get a break.

I spent those six years trying to make her happy, to make her feel she made the right choice with me. I walked on eggshells, always doing what she wanted.

However, none of it mattered. I could not compete with the memory of Jeff, her first love.

With just a few simple words, Jeff could make her let go of her hatred over losing her father and the fact that she had been left behind.

Jeff's excuse for leaving? Pathetic. He said he went abroad to make big bucks, to come back and give her the life she deserved.

She fell for his story hook, line, and sinker. However, the real deal was that Jeff had gotten super sick while overseas, with no family or friends to turn to. Being an orphan, his only option was to come crawling back to Sheila for help.

Sheila, bless her heart, not only bought his tale but also dipped into our savings–pretty much all of it–to pay for his medical bills. If that was not enough, it was because of Jeff that we lost our own daughter.

Just thinking about her sent a wave of pain through my chest.

I made the trip back to my old stomping grounds to lay my daughter to rest. I could not bring myself to tell my parents what happened.

At dinner, my mom hit me with, "Tristan, why didn't you bring Chloe along?

"We're not getting any younger, and you guys live so far away. Who knows how many more times we'll get to see Chloe?"

I felt a lump in my throat and just kept my head down, focusing on my food to keep the tears at bay. "Mom, Chloe is off traveling with Sheila. We'll bring her by to see you guys for New Year's."

No sooner had I said that than my phone started buzzing. It was Sheila.

I stepped outside to take the call.

"Tristan, I've sent you the divorce papers online. Sign them, will you? I'm getting hitched next month. You can look after Chloe for now.

"Once the wedding's over, I'm taking Chloe with me to live abroad. So, make the most of your time left with her."

"Sure, I'll have a really nice wedding present for you," I replied, my voice flat.

There was a pause on the line before she said, struggling, "Maybe you shouldn't come. Jeff... He's not too keen on seeing you."

"Oh, really? Well, that settles it. I'm definitely coming now."

"Do what you want. Come if you feel like it. I'd actually appreciate your genuine well-wishes, you know? Thanks for looking after my dad all these years."

I hung up, the irony of her words stinging. She actually thought she could get a blessing from someone she would hurt so deeply.

Sheila's wedding day rolled around, and there I was, sitting among the guests, watching her up there on the stage.

Tears glistened in her eyes as she clutched a bouquet and took each step toward Jeff.

It was like a flashback to the days when she and I were the ones in that scene.

The stark difference was the radiant joy on her face as she approached the man she loved today. Six years back, she had approached me with clear reluctance etched on her face.

"After all these years, I've finally married my true love. Jeff, I love you."

Sheila was sobbing uncontrollably, her tears clouding her sight. Jeff rushed to her side, tenderly wiping away the tears.

"Sheila, I love you, too."

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause as they shared a blissful kiss.

Sitting next to me, Sheila's mom, Natalie Porter, was also wiping away tears, clearly deeply touched. She had not said a word to me the whole time, nor had she even looked my way.

It was as if she had erased me from her memory, along with all the good times as her once son-in-law. She had forgotten the countless times I had been there for her, rushing her to the hospital, handling every crisis that came her way.

She used to say I was like a son to her, even more so than her own daughter.

The harsh reality hit me that no matter what I did, I could never measure up to her own blood.

I had heard that Sheila planned to whisk her mom away to retire overseas.

I watched them with a detached gaze. They were truly heartless.

As the host was about to invite Natalie to speak, I gently pressed her shoulder and announced, "Mom, just hold on a second. I've got a special gift for Sheila."

All eyes turned to me, puzzled, as I reached under the table and pulled out a framed photo.

I lifted it high for all to see, causing a stir among the crowd. Yes, the photo I held aloft was a memorial portrait of Chloe Lowell.

Sheila's eyes bulged, her body shaking with rage as she confronted me, "Tristan, what's gotten into you, doing this to our daughter's picture?!"

"You…"

Natalie clutched her chest, her face red with fury. She slapped me hard across the face. "What are you trying to pull here? Do you really want to wreck my daughter's wedding? You're so cruel! Chloe didn't do anything to you! How could you..."

The slap left my cheek stinging, but I just gave an icy laugh, holding up the portrait as I made my way to the stage.

"Sheila, your wedding wouldn't be complete without your daughter's blessing, right?

"I brought our daughter here to see your big day. Consider it my special gift to you."

"You're insane! What have you done with my daughter?"

I grabbed the microphone from the host, who was too shocked to move. The TV reporters I had invited were already pointing their cameras at me.

With the mic in hand, I faced the stunned crowd, my voice breaking, "Folks, I'm Sheila's ex-husband. I'm here today to get justice for my little girl, who's no longer with us.

"The bride, Sheila, on the 19th of August, at three in the morning, was so busy making soup for her boyfriend Jeff that she forgot to turn off the gas before she dashed out the door.

"That mistake led to Chloe and me getting gas poisoning. I was lucky to wake up in a haze and managed to carry my unconscious daughter out of there.

"Chloe could've been saved, but Sheila had to play hero for her sniffly boyfriend, Jeff. She blocked the ambulance with her car and wouldn't let it pass."