At My Husband’s Funeral, I Opened His Casket to Place a Flower — and Found a Crumpled Note Tucked Under His Hands

Susan blinked. “What?”

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“I watched you do it on camera. Don’t lie to me.”

“Who are the kids, Susan?”

“I… I just wanted to say goodbye,” she whispered.

“Then you could’ve done it like everyone else. You hid it under his hands. Why?”

People around us were listening. I could feel it.

Susan’s chin trembled. “I didn’t mean for you to find it.”

I pulled the note from my purse and held it up. “Who are the kids, Susan?”

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For a moment, I thought she’d faint. Then she gave a tiny nod.

“He didn’t want you to see them.”

“They’re his,” she said. “They’re Greg’s kids.”

A buzz went through the people nearby. Someone gasped.

“You’re saying my husband has children with you?” I asked.

She swallowed. “Two. A boy and a girl.”

“You’re lying.”

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“I’m not. He didn’t want to hurt you. He told me not to bring them. He didn’t want you to see them.”

My humiliation was suddenly a group activity.

Every word felt like it was aimed right between my ribs. I looked around at all the eyes on us. Friends, neighbors, coworkers. My humiliation was suddenly a group activity.

I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t scream in front of Greg’s casket.