At my husband’s funeral, his daughter arrived wearing white and said I didn’t know the truth about the man I’d been married to for 32 years. I didn’t argue — but I knew something about her story didn’t add up.
I met Thomas 34 years ago, and I can tell you right now, it felt like a movie script.
He was handsome, kind, and had this way of making me feel like the only person in the room.
He had a daughter named Elena from that first marriage, and even though she lived in a different city with her mother, she was an inseparable part of our lives.
I treated her like my own daughter.
And if anyone had told me that sweet girl would one day turn against me, I’d never have believed it.
Thomas and I were married for 32 years.
Elena spent her vacations and weekends with us when she was younger. We watched her graduate from high school and then college.
I cried at her wedding.
Thomas did, too, but for an entirely different reason. He thought Elena deserved better.
We were a family. There were arguments about Elena’s husband, and Thanksgivings where we all still felt like a real family.
Then Thomas died of a heart attack, and my world nearly collapsed.
The day of the funeral was a gray, heavy afternoon.
The church was packed. Family, colleagues, and old friends all gathered to say goodbye to a man they respected.
I was sitting in the front row, clutching a damp tissue, when the heavy doors at the back of the church swung open.
A hush fell over the room.
I turned around, expecting latecomers, but I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.
Elena walked down the center aisle. She was dressed entirely in white from head to toe.
Some guests gasped. Others started whispering behind their hands.
I stood and rushed over to her before she reached the casket.
She looked at me with this strange, wide-eyed surprise. Then, she leaned in close.
“I thought you’d be wearing white too,” she whispered back. “So you don’t know the truth yet?
Didn’t my father’s lawyer give you the envelope right after he died?”
My heart did a slow, painful roll in my chest. “What envelope? What are you talking about?”
Elena exhaled.
“I’m sorry, but everyone needs to know the truth about my father. No one ever understood why my mother really left him.”
“What do you mean?”
Before I could ask what she meant by that, she swept past me and took a seat.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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