My Wife Told Me That Our 3-Year-Old Son Was Buried – A Day Later I Found Out the Horrible Truth

Natalie and I were together for five years before we split. We both saw it coming, even without saying it aloud. Our relationship ended slowly, no dramatic fights—just the realization that we weren’t meant for forever. Now, we live in different states, and the only connection between us is our three-year-old son, Oliver. I get him during the holidays, but it’s never enough.

We kept things civil for his sake, avoiding lawyers or custody battles. Natalie and I agreed on that. Every night, she video-called me so I could say goodnight to Oliver. It was a ritual I cherished.

But then I got the call.

“Greg, our son’s gone!” Natalie screamed. I froze. “What do you mean gone?”

“Oliver is dead!” she cried.

I couldn’t process it. “What happened?”

After a shaky explanation, she told me he’d been buried. I was crushed. I was about to call her back for answers when Mike, her new husband, called. His voice was hesitant.

“Natalie made it up,” Mike said. “Oliver’s fine. He’s with her parents.”

I couldn’t believe it. “She lied?”

“Yes,” Mike confirmed. “She wanted you to stay away, so she made you think Oliver was dead.”

I was numb, full of anger and confusion. After a long flight, I arrived at Natalie’s house. She opened the door, tearful.

“How could you do that to me?” I demanded.

“I panicked,” she sobbed. “I thought you’d take Oliver if you found out I was pregnant again.”

My anger surged. “So you faked his death? Do you realize what you’ve done?”

She cried, ashamed. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

I was furious, but I reassured her I wouldn’t take Oliver away. However, if this ever happened again, I’d have to take legal action.

We both had to face the reality of our situation, especially for Oliver. I insisted we go to counseling. Mike has been supportive of her, and I’m grateful he was the one to tell me the truth.

Back home, the distance from Oliver was unbearable. I started looking for jobs closer to him. I wouldn’t let this happen again.

“Next time, Natalie,” I muttered, “I won’t be so far away.”