“Just buried my husband, flying home with our daughter at 5:00 p.m. Please pick us up from the airport.”
My sister replied,
“Get an Uber. We’re busy.”
Mom added,
“Sorry, we’re celebrating your sister’s birthday party tonight.”
Dad wrote,
“You should have planned better.”
Brother added,
“Not our problem.”
When I landed with my grieving 8-year-old daughter, we had to take a taxi in the rain.
At home, I found out they posted photos of the party online, laughing and drinking while I was burying my husband.
When I confronted them the next day, my father slapped me hard.
“Stop ruining your sister’s week.”
My mother pushed my daughter down.
“Widows don’t get special treatment.”
My sister threw her drink in my face.
“Get over it already.”
I replied,
“No worries.”
The next morning, what they read in the newspaper made them choke on their coffee.
The funeral director’s voice still echoes in my mind.
“Mrs. Anderson, we’ve completed the service. Take all the time you need.”
I stood alone beside the casket.
My 8-year-old daughter Emma clinging to my black dress.
Rain hammered against the chapel windows.
Three days had passed since my husband Daniel died in a construction accident at his job site.
Three days since my world shattered into pieces I couldn’t begin to reassemble.
Emma’s small hand squeezed mine.
“Mommy, when is daddy coming back?”
My throat constricted.
We’d had this conversation six times already.
“Sweetheart, remember what we talked about. Daddy’s in heaven now.”
“But I want him here.”
Her voice cracked.
I knelt down, ignoring the dampness seeping through my stockings from the chapel floor.
“I know, baby. I want that, too.”
The funeral director approached quietly.
“Ma’am, we need to begin the burial soon. The cemetery closes at 4.”
I nodded, unable to speak.
Emma and I followed Daniel’s casket to the grave site.
My parents hadn’t come.
My sister Vanessa hadn’t shown up.
My brother Derek sent a text.
Sorry, work emergency.
The only people present were Daniel’s co-workers, his elderly mother, who could barely stand, and my best friend Nicole, who held an umbrella over Emma and me as dirt fell onto my husband’s coffin.
After the burial, Nicole drove us to the airport.
“Are you sure you want to fly back tonight? You could stay with me for a few days.”
“I need to go home,” I said. “Emma has school and I have to start figuring out what comes next.”
Nicole pulled up to the departures terminal.
“Call me if you need anything. I mean it.”
I hugged her tightly.
“Thank you for being here.”
“You’re the only one who was.”
Inside the terminal, I pulled out my phone and opened the family group chat.
My fingers trembled as I typed,
“Just buried my husband. Flying home with Emma at 5:00 p.m. Please pick us up from the airport.”
Vanessa’s reply came within seconds.
Get an Uber. We’re busy.
My mother’s message appeared next.
Sorry. We’re celebrating your sister’s birthday party tonight.
Dad’s response made my stomach turn.
You should have planned better.
Derek added,
I stared at the screen, unable to process what I was reading.
Vanessa’s birthday wasn’t until next week.
They moved it up deliberately.
They knew I was burying Daniel today.
They chosen a party over supporting their daughter and granddaughter during the worst tragedy of our lives.
Emma tugged my sleeve.
“Mommy, who’s picking us up?”
I forced a smile I didn’t feel.
“We’ll take a taxi, sweetheart. It’ll be an adventure.”
The flight felt endless.
Emma fell asleep against my shoulder, exhausted from crying.
I couldn’t close my eyes.
Every time I tried, I saw Daniel’s face the morning of the accident.
He kissed me goodbye, told me he loved me, promised to be home for dinner.
Those were the last words my husband ever spoke to me.
We landed in a downpour.
Water streamed down the airport windows and sheets.
I carried our bags with one hand and held Emma’s hand with the other as we made our way to the taxi stand.
The line stretched forever.
By the time we finally got a cab, we were both soaked.
“Bad night to be traveling,” the driver said.
“Bad week,” I muttered.
He glanced at Emma in the rearview mirror.
“Heading home?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t ask more questions.
I was grateful.
The drive took 40 minutes through traffic.
When we finally pulled up to our house, I paid the fair and helped Emma out into the rain.
Our home looked dark and empty.
Daniel wouldn’t be inside waiting for us.
He would never be inside waiting for us again.
I got Emma into dry clothes and made her soup she didn’t eat.
After putting her to bed, I collapsed on the couch and opened social media without thinking.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page to discover the rest 🔎👇
