Laced in grief

I was blowing balloons when the call came.

We were preparing for our daughter’s second birthday.

Her dress was laid out.

Cupcakes were in the oven.

The house was filled with sugar, soft music, and peace.

Then my phone rang.

“Madam, sorry… he collapsed at work.”

No warning.

No accident.

No goodbye.

He just didn’t come home.

He was the quiet type. Gentle.

The kind who didn’t talk unless it mattered.

I used to tease him,

“You’re too quiet it’s suspicious.”

And he’d just pull me close and whisper,

“You’re my only peace.”

I believed him.

God knows, I did.

The nights after he passed were the hardest.

I couldn’t sleep.

The bed was too loud with silence.

His elder brother’s wife held me like I was falling apart.

Maybe I already had.

But nothing nothing could have prepared me for what came next.

At the funeral, I dressed our daughter in white lace.

She kept looking around, searching for her daddy.

Kept tugging my sleeve and asking,

“Where’s Daddy?”

I kept whispering,

“He’s gone, baby.”

Then I saw them.

Two women.

One carrying a boy who looked about five.

The other, a baby in her arms.

They didn’t shout.

Didn’t demand.

They just said they came to mourn the man they loved.

To let their children say goodbye to their father.

And when I looked at those children…

my world cracked wide open again.

The boy had his ears.

The baby had his smile.

My knees went weak.

I turned to his elder brother.

“Did you know?”

He looked down.

Said nothing.

That silence was louder than betrayal.

Louder than death.

Here’s what hurt even more:

They knew.

His brother. His cousins.

The ones who came to pick me up from the hospital.

The ones who stayed in my house.

The ones who led the prayers.

They knew.

And said nothing.

He left no will.

No house.

No savings.

Nothing but shattered memories and a daughter who still calls for him in her sleep.

And now, three children with the same eyes.

I stayed for the 41 days.

Grieved with a family who sat in silence.

Cried in rooms where no one looked me in the eye.

Slept in the same house with people who watched my world burn and handed me no water.

So I left.

Took my daughter.

And walked into a new life.

One without lies, even if it’s lonelier.

Every night now, she sleeps beside me.

And I stare at her little face.

She looks just like him.

And all I can think is:

Who was he?

Did I ever truly know him?

Was I ever his only peace… or just one of many?

If you’ve ever had to grieve someone

while questioning everything they were

you’re not alone.

Sometimes the deepest pain comes not from what we lost,

but from what we never truly had.