I was still upset and hurt when I attended my husband’s funeral five years after he admitted to having an affair and ending our 38-year marriage.
But everything I believed I knew about love, devotion, and saying goodbye started to fall apart when a stranger drew me aside and gave me a note he had left behind.
During the second hymn, I caught sight of her.
She sat by herself in the back row, observing without sobbing or praying. The woman didn’t wear black and was calm and quiet. Her gray outfit and enigmatic attitude made it immediately clear to me that I was unfamiliar with her.
This had some significance.
She occupied the back pew by herself.
Richard and I had created this life together, so I knew everyone else there. Beside me in the front row were our kids. When the preacher spoke Richard’s name, Gina tightened her hold on my hand. Alex’s jaw was as fixed as his father’s, and he stared straight ahead, unreadable.
However, the woman in the rear? She was not welcome.
Not to me, at least.
The pews cleared after the last prayer.
She was not welcome.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I started to move toward the back.
Gina took note.”Where are you going, Mom?”Bathroom,” I said, maintaining a steady tone of voice.I’ll accompany you.”
The woman got up as we passed the final pew.I’ll accompany you.” “Too loudly, she said, “Julia?”
People turned. During the hug, someone actually stopped.
Gina pulled away from me. “How does she know your name?”
After recoiling, the woman lowered her voice.Please. I apologize. It’s hospice.
The air was split in two by that single syllable.
Gina took her hand away from me.Mom? “Are you okay?” Leaning against my shoulder, Gina inquired.”I’m all right, honey,” I assured her.
It wasn’t a lie. I didn’t feel sad or broken. I simply felt empty. I had already grieved for five years of silence.
The problem with treachery was that it continued after the divorce papers were completed. It settled, stayed, and finally solidified into something too silent to mention.
I simply felt empty.
I was 20 when I first met Richard. He said my eyes matched the green sweater I was wearing that day, and I rolled them so hard I almost missed the bus. He was witty, understanding, and incredibly compassionate.
At the age of 22, we were married. Together, we reared our two children and constructed a house with mismatched furniture and a dripping faucet that we never got around to repairing.
On Sunday mornings, Richard would make pancakes. Though he never recalled where anything went, I arranged the spice rack alphabetically.
We were content.
Or I believed we were. I believed that we were blissfully happy for 38 years.
We were content.
Then something was different.
Richard fell silent and moved as if a shadow were following him. He would claim it was work-related stress when I woke up to find him asleep on the couch in his office with the door locked.
He no longer inquired about my day. On certain evenings, I would sit on the opposite side of the door with my hand against the wood when I heard him cough.”Richard?” I would murmur.
He never did, however, open it.
Then something was different.
Perhaps he was depressed, I thought. I pleaded with him to speak with me.
Then one evening, right after supper, he stated it while seated at the kitchen table, where we had commemorated each birthday, every ruined casserole, and Gina’s awful baking.You were cheated on, Julia.””What?” While looking at my spouse, I gasped.I cheated. Someone else has been my partner. I apologize.
He did not weep. He didn’t give me a glance.I cheated. Someone else has been my partner. I apologize.””What is her name?”I’d prefer not to discuss it.””No,” I yelled. “You don’t get to shatter 38 years with one sentence and then sit there like you lost your darn keys.”
Despite his shaking palms, he remained silent.
I filed for a divorce a week later.What is her name?
Richard did not resist. It was sanitized, bloodless, and brutal; he didn’t call or beg.
Later, Gina informed me that he maintained contact with the children and grandchildren. I informed them that I didn’t need to be involved with that any longer and that I was okay with it.
That was untrue.
It was five years later. I stopped asking questions and giving up on finding answers during those calm years.
I gradually rebuilt, rearranging rooms to feel less like him, going out to lunch with friends, and spending holidays with the kids.
That was untrue.
Gina then gave a call.”Mom,” she whispered in a strained voice. “A heart attack occurred. They claimed that it happened quickly.
I refrained from crying. I simply listened to the quiet on the other end of the line while sitting on the edge of the bed.A service is being held,” she continued. “I thought you’d want to know.”
“”Where?”She hesitated as she continued, “The old church, Mom.” “Saturday morning is the date. Alex and I are both leaving.”A heart attack occurred.
Without thinking, I answered sure. Perhaps I needed to show myself that I had moved on, but I wasn’t sure why. Perhaps because I hadn’t in some way.
Nothing had changed in the church. The stained-glass windows and creaky pews were identical.
Gina, her husband, and their children sat close to the front. Alex stayed in the aisle, conversing with a family member.
I didn’t wear anything black, and I stayed away.
Without thinking, I answered sure.
At that moment, I noticed her in a gray outfit in the back row.
She was by herself and motionless, not twitching or checking her phone. She simply sat there as if she was anticipating someone or something.
I approached her after the last prayer and a few hushed farewells.I said, “I don’t think we’ve met.”No. She turned to face me and answered, “We haven’t.”
She appeared to be waiting for someone or something as she sat there.”You knew Richard?” “You knew my…Indeed. My name is Charlotte.Where did you come from?””Julia, I was with him at the end,” she added quietly. Hospice. Additionally, you must understand what your spouse has done for you.Hospice? What topic are you discussing?”Julia, I was with him at the end.
She changed her look; it was no longer one of sympathy or pity. It was simply being aware…Richard had cancer. The pancreatic cancer was in its fourth stage. He declined medical care. He wished for no one to perceive him in that manner.I said, “He told me he was cheating on me.”
It made my stomach turn.I am aware.””You knew?” I took a step back. My breath caught in my throat.He claimed to be unfaithful to me.He requested that we keep it a secret. Charlotte replied softly, “He said you’d stay.” “And he couldn’t bear what staying would do to you.”
“And that wasn’t good.”
My throat became constricted.Charlotte murmured, “He didn’t just ask,” and her fingers gripped her purse’s strap more tightly. “He put it in writing.”
“He requested that we keep it a secret.
One page was taken out by her. Like it had been carried a hundred times, it was wrinkled. The hospital letterhead was at the top. A line in neatly penned handwriting appears beneath it: “Under no circumstances should you get in touch with Julia.
On the page, my name appeared unfamiliar. It had a five-year-old date next to it. His signature appeared at the bottom as if it were a final judgment.Under no circumstances should you get in touch with Julia.
It wasn’t opened at the church by me. Without saying farewell to anyone, I packed the package in my backpack and headed out.
The air felt strange when I went home, like if the walls were holding their breath. To keep my hands occupied, I took off my dress, combed my hair back, and brewed tea.
I then made my way to the back porch.
The night outside was cool, the type of quiet that made you want to whisper.
It wasn’t opened at the church by me.
I tucked my legs under me, sat on the old seat we never replaced, and gazed out at the garden we had once created together. It was the return of the hydrangeas.
It was something.
Before I opened the letter, I held it for a long time. I felt as though I might get cut as I stroked my thumb along the paper’s edge.
He was still writing by hand.
There was something to that.Julia
My darling, I didn’t touch anyone else. I swear. An affair did not occur. I knew what it would do to you when I received the diagnosis.
You’d have remained. It would have taken you with me if you had cleaned up after me, fed me soup, and watched me deteriorate.
Your entire life was given to me. I couldn’t ask for anything more from you.My dear, I didn’t touch anyone else.
My dear, you were essential to my survival. For you to leave, I needed you to despise me more than you loved me.
I apologize. I’m so sorry. I got my wish, though, if you’re reading this. that you remain in this place.
that you survived.
Until the very end, I adored you.
— Richard.I apologize. I’m so sorry.
The letter swam in and out of my mind as I sat with it in my lap. I covered my lips with my hand. I didn’t weep immediately. I simply took deep, shallow breaths until I heard the porch light flicker and buzz.
As though the home itself was unsure of how to handle this.
I contacted Gina and Alex the following morning and invited them over. I told them I had something to share, but I didn’t tell them why.
I covered my lips with my hand.
Both of them showed up in the middle of the morning with coffee cups in their hands and expressions that indicated, “We’re worried, but we’ll wait until you’re ready to talk.”
Gina looked around the kitchen as if it may seem different as she planted a peck on my cheek.”Is everything alright, Mom?” Alex stood near the back door and inquired.
I gestured for them to seat while I nodded. They assumed their customary seats at the table without hesitation—almost like muscle memory.”Is everything alright, Mom?”
I put the envelope in the middle while I sat across from them.”What is that, Mom?” Gina inquired.Simply read it.
Together, they leaned forward and looked over the page. At first, neither of them spoke.
Gina reached for her mouth. Alex’s mouth clenched. The first person to speak was him.Mom, what is that?”He gave us the impression that he was a monster.I whispered, “He was dying.” “And he made sure I never saw it.”
“Gina wiped her cheek and remarked, “He believed he was sparing you all that heartache.””Perhaps,” I replied. I spoke more steadily than I actually felt. However, he took my selection. And he allowed me to bear the guilt.
The ensuing silence didn’t feel sacred. It seemed deserving.He made sure I didn’t see it.But after a moment, I said, “Perhaps it worked.”
After that, we didn’t say much. While I prepared some dinner for my kids, we simply sat there. The silence felt full rather than heavy.
Alex returned a week later, but this time he was by himself. In his palm, he held another envelope.”Now, son, what?” I managed a half-smile as I asked.
The silence felt full rather than heavy.
I received it from him.He said, “Dad updated his will.” “Charlotte — that woman from the funeral — she helped him finalize it.”
I cautiously opened the envelope, expecting more inquiries or legalese.
However, a deed… to our lake cabin was what emerged.
He gave it to me.
Every summer, we would take the kids to the same place. The swing dangling from the front pine tree, the place with the leaky roof. It had been years since I had visited. We referred to it as ours.Alex remarked, “He put it in your name.” “Fully.”
The deed had a sticky note affixed to the corner. I recognized the penmanship, which was faded yellow.Love, don’t turn off the porch light.
If the children return, do it. And just in case you’d like to see the water once again.
I’ll be present. Not where you can see, though.
It had been years since I had visited.
I read it more than once.
The wind increased outside. One leaf, as if fighting to stay, slid itself across the kitchen glass and stuck there.
I turned to face Alex. The way Richard used to do when he didn’t know how to mend anything, he just watched me without saying anything.
I read it more than once.
I once more traced the sticky note’s edge.I whispered, “He went out.” “In order for me to maintain the light.” My illumination…”Alex’s voice cracked as he responded, “You did, Mom.”
And I allowed myself to believe it for the first time in five years, and the warmth of it almost made me cry.He departed.
