The day of my mother’s funeral was a blur of grey skies and black umbrellas. I felt like I couldn’t stand, like gravity had increased tenfold. But I didn’t fall, because I was being held up from both sides.
On my right was David, my husband of five years. On my left was Julie, my best friend since kindergarten.
My husband and my best friend were the two people who comforted me when my mom died.
They were incredible. In the weeks that followed, they were a tag team of support. Julie was always at our house, cooking meals. David was always driving her home, sometimes staying out late to “make sure she was okay” because she was grieving too. I felt so lucky. I told everyone that I couldn’t have survived the loss without the two of them.
Then, the atmosphere shifted. David became distant. He said the house felt “heavy” with sadness. He said he needed space to breathe.
Six months later, he asked for a divorce.
I was blindsided, but I blamed myself. I thought my grief had been too much for him. I thought I had drowned our marriage in my tears. I signed the papers with a trembling hand, feeling like I was losing the last piece of my stability.
The day the decree arrived in the mail, I sat on my couch, feeling utterly alone. I opened Instagram, mindlessly scrolling, looking for a distraction.
And there it was.
A photo of David. He was on a beach, holding a glass of champagne. But he wasn’t alone. He was with Julie.
The day the papers were signed, he posted a photo: “Finally official.”.
I stared at the screen. He was with my best friend. They looked happy. They looked comfortable. They looked like a couple who had been together for a long time.
I read the comments. A mutual friend had written, “So glad you guys can finally be open about it!”
The timeline clicked into place with a sickening snap. The late nights driving her home. The whispered conversations in the kitchen while I was crying in the bedroom. The “support” they offered me wasn’t for my benefit; it was an excuse for them to be in the same room.
They had been together since the funeral.
While I was lowering my mother into the ground, they were starting their romance. While I was leaning on them for survival, they were using my tragedy as the backdrop for their honeymoon phase. I realized then that I hadn’t just lost my mother that day; I had lost my entire support system to a betrayal so dark it had literally started in a graveyard.
