I was at work when the doctor’s number flashed on my phone, and somehow, I knew what was coming. My heart sank even before I answered.
Mom was gone. Just like that. One minute she was fighting a minor lung infection, and the next… nothing. My world stopped making sense.
I don’t remember much after that. One moment I was sitting in my cubicle, and the next I was home, fumbling with my keys, eyes blurred with tears. John’s car was in the driveway, another one of his “work-from-home” days, which usually meant ESPN muted in the background while he pretended to answer emails.
John?” My voice echoed through the house. “I need you.”
He stepped into the kitchen, holding a coffee mug, looking mildly annoyed. “What’s wrong? You look terrible.”
I tried to speak, but the words got tangled in my throat. I reached out to him, desperate for comfort. He sighed and gave me a quick, awkward pat on the back, like he was consoling a distant acquaintance.
My mom… she died, John. Mom’s gone.”
His grip tightened for a moment. “Oh, wow. That’s… I’m sorry.”
Then, just as quickly, he pulled away. “Do you want me to order takeout? Maybe Thai?”
I nodded, numb. The next day, reality hit hard. There was so much to handle—planning the funeral, notifying family, and dealing with a lifetime of memories. As I sat at the kitchen table, buried in lists, I remembered our planned vacation.
“John, we’ll need to cancel Hawaii,” I said, looking up from my phone. “The funeral will probably be next week, and—”
“Cancel?” He lowered his newspaper, frowning. “Edith, those tickets were non-refundable. We’d lose a lot of money. Besides, I’ve already booked my golf games.”
I stared at him, stunned. “John, my mother just died.”
He folded the newspaper with the kind of precision that told me he was more irritated than concerned.
“I get that you’re upset, but funerals are for family. I’m just your husband—your cousins won’t even notice I’m not there. You can handle things here, and you know I’m not great with emotional stuff.”
It felt like I’d been punched in the gut. “Just my husband?”
“You know what I mean,” he muttered, avoiding my gaze and adjusting his tie. “Besides, someone should use those tickets. You can text me if you need anything.”
I felt like I was seeing him clearly for the first time in 15 years of marriage.
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