Devastated After Burying My Wife, I Took My Son on Vacation – My Blood Ran Cold When He Said, ‘Dad, Look, Mom’s Back!’
At 34, I was a widower with a 5-year-old son. Two months ago, Stacey, my wife, was “killed” by a drunk driver. I hadn’t even seen her one last time. Nights were the hardest, holding Luke as he cried, asking when Mommy would come home.
We tried to heal. I took Luke to the beach, hoping for a fresh start—until he saw her. Alive. Laughing. With another man. Stacey had faked her death, run off with a lover, and was pregnant—not by me.
I confronted her, shielded Luke, and fought for custody. The court granted me full custody and a gag order. Weeks later, in our new city, Luke and I slowly healed.
One day, Stacey texted, begging for forgiveness. I deleted it. Some bridges, once burned, can’t be rebuilt. Holding my son, I whispered, “I love you, buddy.” He smiled, “I love you too, Daddy.” And for the first time in months, I believed we’d be okay.
