BACKSTORY:

I was with her when I was 32 years olds. She was an alcoholic and caused constant arguments due to her being drunk all the time. I was a stereotypical beta male and stayed around to try and help her. Her mother liked me, and was glad when I walked into her house after work (Her mother didn't know that she had met someone (I know her and her mother through being friends with her stepson for decades).

We broke up multiple times due to her excessive drinking, and because I was a Cuck, I always went back. 2 years into the relationship (On another break), she told me she was pregnant (She had done this multiple times), so I asked her to do a pregnancy test in front of me. She obliged, and turns out that she was.

So I went into action. She was living in a flat that was surrounded by druggies and alcoholics, so I found us a house to raise our child. She was a stay at home mother. During this time, she was only drunk once in front of me.

She gave birth to our little boy, we moved, and I worked while she stayed at home and looked after that beautiful little guy.

During our time there, she would constantly use our joint account card to secretly buy Vodka. She drank a lot while I was at work (and hid it VERY well, she was a seasoned professional), and I would come home and she would have dinner ready (Never asked this of her, she wanted to, she told me as much, I enjoy cooking so I would have cooked if she had a hard day).

During this time, she got sloppy, and started to not care if I knew about her drinking or not. During those times, I would go to work, and I would come home to her sleeping on the couch, and our son crying because of no food, and his nappy being full (nappy being English for diaper).

After one big blowout when she was openly drunk and screaming at me that she would tell police that I had raped her (The reason being that I wouldn't give her my card to go to the shops and buy more Vodka), the police were called, and I had her taken away (She tried to get our boy out of bed when she was REALLY drunk, and I held her back).

After this, her mother and her stepsons wife came over to help. After her mother left and my parents arrived, her Stepbrothers wife asked to talk to me and my parents. She told us that my son may not be mine, and said that I should get a DNA test. I broke down, not believing it (But I'm so glad she was honest with me now. I love you so much for that).

So I split up from my Ex for the final time. All the way through this, Social Services were involved, and anytime anything went wrong they assumed it was my fault (I'm the one with the dick, so of COURSE it's my fault).

After a really bad Christmas day with my son and my stepson (at the time), She had both children taken away from her (Her son lived with his dad, and whenever he came over to us on the weekends, I loved him like he was mine).

THIS is when social services asked me for a DNA test (I have paid for it privately, due to Social services refusing to pay for one for MONTHS, and she refused to take him for it FOR MONTHS)

I got my own flat and live there to this day. 5 days before my son's first birthday, I found out he wasn't mine (During this time, I drank bleach to try and end my life, feel free to make fun of that, I do *EDGY BOI*).

After that fact, I broke down and cried, and I have had no contact since.

ON TO TODAY'S STORY.

My parents called me on Thursday and asked to speak to me. I went around to their house. They delivered the "Devastating" news that my ex had stage 4 Ovarian Cancer, and that she had died.

This is where I may be the asshole.

I burst into fits of laughter. The reason they told me was because her family don't have my address but they have my parents, so sent the invitation there. I actually danced around the kitchen laughing and singing "The whore is dead" repeatedly. I made comments between laughs saying "She suffered for 18 months, wasn't long enough" and "Just imagine the situation. Her, alone and in pain, hoping that someone would save her, and no C*** will".

I told my parents that I will go to the funeral, just so know where she will be buried, so I know where to go when I need to P*** and Sh**. I honestly plan on going to her gravestone and doing that. I have no shame about it.

My parents hated her for what she did, and how she lied, but they said that I shouldn't enjoy it so much, and that they are worried for me. They want me to go to therapy.

Am I wrong for declining therapy due to the fact that, and I quote "The whore is dead, what do I have to work out"?

EDIT: I know that I made fun of suicide in this post, but I lived it, so I get to say what I do with it. It happened a couple of months before the actual DNA test, because I was so weak that I couldn't cope with the fact of not knowing (I know, P**** BOI, you are right, I don't do stupid stuff like that anymore. I don't even date anymore, it's not worth my time).