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

Not by choice. Because I couldn’t.

Years of tests. Quiet heartbreak. And Greg always telling me, “It’s you and me. You are enough.”

I checked the security footage.

A woman in black approached the casket alone, glanced around, and slipped the note under his hands.

Susan Miller—his supplier. Someone I’d met before.

I confronted her at the funeral. In front of everyone, she claimed Greg had two children with her.

I couldn’t stay. I left.

Later, alone in the house, I opened Greg’s journals. Eleven of them.

Every page was about us—our life, our struggles, my infertility, his unwavering loyalty.

There was no second family.