Betrayal Uncovered Beneath the Funeral Table
At my father-in-law’s funeral, I expected sorrow, memories, maybe a few awkward silences—but never betrayal. Least of all from the man I loved, revealed by our four-year-old son crawling under a table.
Arthur and I met at a book club, bonded over Hemingway critiques, and built what I believed was a solid marriage. He was kind, loyal, attentive—or so I thought. We had routines, a son named Ben, and a quiet happiness. The sudden death of his father shook us, but I tried to keep our family steady.
The funeral was a grand affair, full of whispers and solemn faces. While Arthur mingled, I asked him to watch Ben for just a few minutes. When I returned, Ben was nowhere in sight.
I found him under a table, giggling. I gently scolded him, but then he whispered words that stopped my breath.
“Mommy, I saw Daddy touch the lady’s leg.”
“What lady?” I asked.
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