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

I was 55 and newly widowed when I found something at my husband Greg’s funeral that nearly destroyed everything I believed about our 36-year marriage.

As I leaned over his casket to place a rose in his hands, I noticed a folded note tucked beneath his fingers. In the restroom, I read it:

“Even though we could never be together the way we deserved… my kids and I will love you forever.”

Greg and I couldn’t have children. The words felt like betrayal carved into paper.

Security footage revealed who left it: Susan, a business supplier he’d worked with. I confronted her in front of everyone. She claimed Greg had fathered her two children.

After the burial, I searched his journals—eleven of them—expecting proof of a double life. Instead, I found pages about us: our fertility struggles, my tears, his devotion. Then I found entries about Susan. A failed contract. Her anger. Her business collapsing. Greg refusing to sue because she had children.

With help from Greg’s friend Peter and his son Ben, we confronted Susan’s family. The truth came out: the children were her husband’s. She’d lied to hurt me.

Grief is heavy enough without cruelty added to it.

My marriage wasn’t perfect—but it wasn’t a lie.

And in every journal, between the ordinary details of our life together, Greg had written the same truth over and over:

“I love her.”