At my husband’s funeral, I barely held myself together—much less knew how to explain death to our daughter. But the real heartbreak came later, when my mother-in-law showed up and calmly told me to leave. I hadn’t even begun to grieve, yet I was already being pushed away like I didn’t belong.
By the grave, I gripped Ellie’s small hand tightly, afraid to let go—not of her, him, or that moment. The casket lay still, flowers swayed quietly, and part of me hoped this was all a terrible mistake—that he’d walk back through the door. But no one came.
Ellie looked up at me, confused. “Mama, why are they putting dirt on Daddy? How will he go to work tomorrow?”
I couldn’t answer. How do you explain someone so full of life suddenly gone?
At home, silence was heavy. The smell of sympathy meals filled the air, but I couldn’t eat. Abby, my best friend, gently urged me to rest while she stayed with Ellie.
In the bedroom, I broke down, sobbing. Then the door opened. It was Linda, my mother-in-law—calm, composed, like she’d stopped by for coffee. She sat beside me, placed a cold hand over mine, and said, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Then, without emotion, she added, “It’s time for you and Ellie to find somewhere else to stay. The sooner, the better.”
I was stunned. The funeral was less than a day ago. And already, she was pushing us out.
