When I discovered something at my husband’s burial, I was 55 years old, recently bereaved after 36 years of marriage, and it made me wonder if I had ever truly known the guy I loved.
For the first time since I was 19, I am 55 years old and have no one to call “my husband.”
Greg was his name. Greg to me, but Raymond Gregory on all forms.
Then a truck failed to stop in time on a wet Tuesday.
For 36 years, we were wed. Not much drama. Not a fairy tale. Merely a calm marriage based on oil changes, grocery lists, with him always sitting outside at restaurants “just in case some idiot drives through the window.”
Then a truck failed to stop in time on a wet Tuesday. It only took one phone call, one hospital visit, and one “I’m so sorry” from a doctor. There were Before and After periods in my life.
I felt empty by the day of the viewing. My skin ached from crying so much. My hands were shaking so much that my sister Laura had to zip my dress.
He seems calm.
The aroma of coffee and flowers filled the chapel. gentle piano tunes. People caressed my arm as if applying too much pressure would cause me to collapse.
And there he was. Greg. wearing the navy suit I purchased on our most recent anniversary. He smoothed back his hair like he always did at weddings. His hands were folded as if he were simply sleeping.
He seems calm.
I noticed it at that point.
This is my last opportunity to help you, I told myself.
I approached with a single red rose as the line began to lessen. To tuck the stem between his hands, I leaned forward and carefully raised them.
I noticed it at that point.
Beneath his fingers was a tiny white rectangle. It’s not a card for prayer. incorrect size.
Nobody appears to be guilty.
Unbeknownst to me, someone had placed something in my husband’s coffin.
I looked around. They were all in little groups. Nobody is keeping a close eye on me. Nobody appears to be guilty.
He is my spouse. It is more mine than anyone else’s, if there is a secret there.
I placed the rose in its place and slid the paper free, my fingers trembling. I quickly went down the hall to the bathroom after putting the note in my handbag.
I didn’t understand the words for a moment. Then I did.
I unfolded the paper, leaned against the door, and locked it.
The handwriting was careful and precise. “Blue ink.”My children and I will always adore you, even if we are never able to be together the way we deserve.”
I didn’t understand the words for a moment.
Then I did.
Greg and I were childless.
Our children.
Greg and I were childless.
It’s not that we didn’t desire them. since I was unable to.
Tests, appointments, and quiet bad news for years. I sobbed for years into his chest as he muttered, “It’s alright. I’m with you. That’s sufficient. You are sufficient.
This was written by whom?
However, it seems that somewhere there were “our kids” who loved him “forever.”
My vision became fuzzy. I took hold of the sink and gazed at my reflection in the mirror.
Smeared mascara. swollen eyes. I appeared to be a cliche.
This was written by whom? With my husband, who had children?
I refrained from crying. Not at that time.This was placed in his coffin by someone.
I searched for the cameras.
There was a man in a gray uniform in the security room, which was a little office with four monitors. The name on his name tag said “Luis.”
Startled, he looked up.This area is—” Ma’am.I answered, “My husband is in the viewing room.” “Someone put this in his casket.”
The chapel feed appeared.
I displayed the note.I must find out who it was.
He paused. “I’m not sure if—”The room was paid for by me. He is my spouse. Please.
With a groan, he looked at the monitors. He rewound, fast-forwarded, and pulled up the chapel feed.
Tight bun, dark hair.
The screen flickered with people. Flowers, hugs, and hands on the coffin.”Go more slowly,” I urged.
The only person to approach the coffin was a woman wearing a black outfit. Tight bun, dark hair.
After taking a quick look around, she put her palm beneath Greg’s, tucked something inside, and gave him a chest pat.
Susan.
I took a photo of the frame that was paused.
Miller, Susan. He was a “work lifesaver.” The supply company that supplied to his office was controlled by her. She and I had occasionally met at events. Efficient, slender, and constantly laughing a bit too much.
She was the one smuggling a message inside my husband’s coffin at that precise moment.
I took a photo of the frame that was paused.”Thank you,” I said to Luis.In my husband’s coffin, you left something.”
I then made my way back to the chapel on foot.
Susan was conversing with two women from Greg’s workplace toward the back. She held tissue in her hand and had red eyes, as if she were the bereaved widow in an other reality.
Her face wavered when she saw me approaching. For a moment only. guilt.
I came to a stop directly in front of her. “You left something in my husband’s casket.”
Susan gave a blink. “What?”I was on camera when you did it. Don’t tell me lies.””Susan, who are the children?””I just wanted to say goodbye,” she said.Then, like everyone else, you could have done it. You concealed it beneath his hands. “Why?”
We had others listening around us. I sensed it.
Susan’s chin shook. “I didn’t mean for you to find it.”
I reached inside my purse and produced the note. “Who are the kids, Susan?”
I briefly believed she would pass out. She then nodded slightly.He wished for you not to witness them.”They belong to him,” she declared. “They’re Greg’s kids.”
There was a stir among those around. Someone let out a gasp.”You mean my husband has kids with you?” I inquired.
She took a swallow. “Two. A girl and a boy.” “You’re telling lies.”I’m not. He had no desire to harm you. I was warned not to bring them by him. He wanted you not to see them.
Suddenly, it was a group activity that embarrassed me.
It seemed like every phrase was directed directly at my ribs. I noticed that everyone was staring at us. coworkers, friends, and neighbors. Suddenly, it was a group activity that embarrassed me.
I was unable to stay. I was unable to yell in front of Greg’s coffin.
I therefore took the only action I could.
I turned and left.
Never would I read them.
The house seemed like someone else’s after the funeral.
He still had his shoes beside the entrance. On the counter was his mug. He left his glasses on the bedside table.
I gazed at the closet shelf while perched on the side of our bed.
A tidy row of eleven journals. Greg’s handwriting appears on the spines.”It helps me think,” he would remark.
Never would I read them. It was similar to opening his head.
I opened the first journal after pulling it down.
However, Susan’s words continued to reverberate: “Two. A boy and a girl.”
I opened the first journal after pulling it down.
One week following our wedding, the first entry was made. He wrote about the awful motel we stayed at on our honeymoon. The air conditioner broke. I chuckle.
I turned the pages over.
About us, page after page.
About our initial fertility consultation, he wrote. In the car, I was crying.
He said, “I wish I could trade bodies with her and take this pain.”
I proceeded to the subsequent journal. Next comes the next. About us, page after page. about our altercations. Our inside jokes. I get migraines. He was afraid of flying. Bills and holidays.
Not a word about another woman.
No hidden children. Don’t live two lives.
Darkness crept into the writing.
My eyes were burning by the time I got to the sixth journal.
The tone shifted halfway through. Darkness crept into the writing.
“Susan pushing again,” he wrote. wants to keep us imprisoned for three years. declining quality. The last shipment was not good. People became ill.
“Told her we’re done,” is the next entry. She snapped. said that I was destroying her company.
Then: “We could sue; the lawyer says we’d prevail.” However, she has two children. refuse to remove food from their table.
What if there were no children who were hidden?
In stronger writing beneath that: “I’ll let it go. However, I will never forget her abilities.
With my journal open and my hands trembling, I sat on the bed.
two children. Her children. Not his.
What if there were no children who were hidden?
What if she had entered my grief and determined it was insufficient?
I grabbed my cell and dialed Peter.
I told him everything.
Greg’s best friend at work was Peter. He had already made three trips to the house, mending non-broken items because he was at a loss for what to do.
He responded quickly. “Ev?”I need your assistance. Additionally, I need your belief.
I told him everything. The message. The cameras. Susan’s words. what I had discovered in the journal. He fell silent.Peter? I muttered.I’ll assist you in discovering the truth.”At last, he answered, “I believe you.” “Ray was someone I knew. He wouldn’t have been able to conceal it if he had children with someone else. He was an awful liar.
I let forth a feeble laugh.”I’ll assist you in discovering the truth,” he said. “You deserve that.”
He dispatched his son, Ben, the next afternoon.If I go, I’ll get angry,” Peter warned me. “Ben’s calmer.”You owe no one evidence.
Ben was seventeen years old. tall, courteous, and a touch uncomfortable. He initially came to my residence.He said, “If you want, I can back out.” “You don’t owe anyone proof.”I owe it to myself. Additionally, to Greg.
Susan’s address was already discovered by Peter using outdated vendor documents. Ben came over in his car.
We sat at my kitchen table when he returned an hour later. I had a mug of tea in my hands that I wasn’t actually sipping.The door was opened by this girl. adolescent.”I said, “Tell me everything.””I knocked,” he said. The door was opened by this girl. Teenager. Untidy bun, pajama pants. I requested her father.
I visualized it while he spoke.”She called out to him,” Ben continued. “A man in his fifties approaches the door. “I’m here because of something your wife said at a funeral yesterday,” I told him.”,”She was immediately aware that something was amiss.
Ben took a swallow. She claimed to have had an affair with Greg, so I told him. that Greg owned her children.”
I flinched.”He simply froze,” Ben remarked. He then called out for Susan. With a dish towel in her hand, she emerged. saw him and saw me. She was immediately aware that something was amiss.What was it she said?He said, “She denied it.” claimed that I was lying. I informed her that I had personally heard her.”Why did she claim to have done it?””And then?”Ben remarked, “Her husband asked again.” “He appeared to be broken. “Did you tell people our kids aren’t mine?” he asked.
Ben gazed at the table.He said, “She snapped. “She yelled, ‘Fine, I said it, okay?’”
I shut my eyes. “Why did she say she did it?” ‘”I wanted her to get hurt.”Ben answered, “She said Greg ruined her life.” “He said that she had lost contracts and that her business had failed. She claimed to have attended the funeral in order to harm you.
because she wanted you to experience the same level of insanity that she did.”I muttered, “She said the kids are actually his.”No, according to her, they belong to her husband. To exact revenge, she simply used Greg’s name. She said those things. “It was just words.” I desired for her to suffer harm.
It hurt my eyes.
Merely a resentful woman who believed that my sorrow was insufficient retribution.
“Her daughter was crying,” Ben said softly. Her husband appeared to have been kicked in the chest.
Between us, silence descended.
And there it was. No clandestine family. Don’t live two lives. Merely a resentful woman who believed that my sorrow was insufficient retribution. I put my hands to my eyes and began to cry.
Ben remarked, “My dad always said Ray was the most loyal guy he knew,” once I had finally calmed down. For what the price is.”It’s quite valuable,” I remarked.
From my bedside, I took an empty notebook.
I walked back upstairs after he left and took up Greg’s journal once more.I’ll overlook it. However, I will never forget what she is capable of.I replied, “Neither will I.
I took an empty notebook from my nightstand, sat on the floor, and turned to the first page.
I could write the truth and carry it with me if Susan could write lies and slip them into my husband’s hands.
I didn’t lie about my marriage.
So I got going. Regarding Greg. Regarding the rose. Regarding the note. Concerning the cameras. About Ben, Peter, and Luis. About a woman who entered a funeral and made two attempts to bury a decent man. I have not yet decided what I will do with it.
However, I am aware that my marriage was genuine.
My spouse was human, flawed, obstinate, and occasionally obnoxious. But I had him.
And despite everything, one thing consistently appears in the margins and the tiny lines that separate his ideas when I flip the pages of those journals.I adore her.
He didn’t conceal that.
