At My Husband’s Funeral, I Opened His Casket
A Life Shattered
After 36 years of marriage, I buried my husband, Greg.
One accident, one call, one doctor saying,
“I’m so sorry,” split my life in two.
The Note
At his funeral, I found a message hidden in his hands:
“Even though we could never be together the way we deserved…
my kids and I will love you forever.”
Greg and I had no children.
Confusion turned to humiliation when a coworker,
Susan, claimed publicly, “They’re Greg’s.”
The Truth
At home, I read Greg’s journals.
They told our real story—love, loss, loyalty.
Susan appeared only as a work problem.
One line mattered most: “She has two kids.
I don’t want to take food off their table.”
They weren’t his children.
What Remained
Susan later admitted she lied “to hurt.”
But the truth endured. Again and again, Greg wrote,
“I love her.” Some things survive even death.
