He held a cardboard box containing a small white Pomeranian puppy with its eyes closed.
It was unmistakably my wife Sophie with her first love Ethan.
Ethan looked heartbroken, "Sophie, knowing that our baby had such a wonderful mother like you to take care of its affairs is the greatest comfort."
To anyone unaware of the situation, it would seem she was referring to Emma as "the baby."
Sophie cared far more for that puppy than she ever did for Emma.
She would splurge on premium dog food and toys whenever she traveled abroad while dressing Emma in cheap clothes from street vendors. "Children don't need anything extravagant; they shouldn't be spoiled at such a young age!" she would say.
She missed every one of Emma's birthdays and parent-teacher meetings and would dismiss Emma whenever she tried to follow in her footsteps.
Sophie continued to console Ethan until our eyes locked across Emma's grave.
In an instant, anger flooded the woman's eyes. "Kyle, are you really following me during my work hours?"
I ignored her and placed the bouquet of daisies I had brought on Emma's grave.