My Husband Left Every Saturday at 7 AM to Coach His Late Friend’s 8-Year-Old Son – but When the Boy Slipped Me a Note, I Dropped to My Knees
After his best friend died, my husband became a hero.
Every Saturday he took Leo, the man’s eight-year-old son, to baseball, bought him burgers, did “guy stuff.” People praised his loyalty. I did too.
Until the day Leo handed me a crumpled note.
“Mark lies,” he whispered. “I took this from Daddy’s casket.”
My hands shook as I opened it.
David, I need you to take this secret to the grave with you… I love Sarah. I always have. I’ll step in now that you’re gone, make sure they’re never alone. Forgive me for loving what wasn’t mine.
I couldn’t breathe.
Leo told me Mark got angry when his mom didn’t answer texts. That he said David would’ve wanted him checking on her.
Suddenly Leo’s fear made sense.
I drove him home and showed Sarah. Her face drained of color, then hardened.
“He’s never coming near us again,” she said.
When I returned, Mark saw the paper in my hand and panicked — not because he’d hurt me, but because she knew.
That told me everything.
“You used a grieving child to stay close to his mother,” I said.
He called it friendship.
I called it waiting for a chance.
So I packed a bag, walked into the rain, and for the first time in months, I could breathe.
