The Groom-to-Be Despises My Job as a Mortician

On our fifth anniversary, Fintan was planning to propose to me.

I was waiting excitedly in the bedroom while they set up, when I overheard Fintan's resigned tone:

"Now whenever I think about her hands preparing all those bodies, I feel sick."

"But I have to marry her. I owe her that much."

How laughable.

Seven years ago, at his father's funeral, he couldn't stop thanking me for giving his father a final moment of dignity.

Five years ago, he passionately kissed my fingertips as he professed his love, swearing he'd never be repulsed by me.

If you don't love me, then get lost.