Jake and I have been married for six years. We met through my college friend Rachel at a dinner party, where he made everyone laugh with his terrible dad jokes. That night, I told Rachel he was different from anyone I’d ever met. Six months later, he proposed in our favorite coffee shop, and I knew I had made the best decision of my life by saying yes.
Right after the wedding, we started trying for a baby, but things didn’t go as planned. Each month brought a negative test, and after two years of heartache, we visited fertility specialists, hoping for a miracle. Yet, as treatments failed, the constant questions from well-meaning relatives crushed my spirit. My aunt Susan would ask, “Have you tried those fertility herbs I told you about?” Last Thanksgiving, when my cousin announced her pregnancy, I excused myself to cry in the bathroom. Jake found me there, kneeling in front of me with kindness, suggesting we ditch the gathering for terrible diner food.
“That’s Jake,” I thought. He always knew how to lift me when the world felt heavy. While society made me feel less of a woman for not being a mother, he made me feel whole.
Professionally, I was climbing the corporate ladder and was now a manager overseeing a team of fifteen. We had just landed three major clients, and I couldn’t have been prouder. Jake, an accountant at a smaller firm, celebrated his small wins with infectious enthusiasm. “Guess what? I figured out that reconciliation issue!” he’d bounce in, and I’d match his excitement every time.
However, everything changed last month. I was in my office when my boss, David, urgently called me in. “Lexi, we need you in Denver. The account is hanging by a thread, and you’re the only one who can salvage it.” I felt a pit in my stomach—this meant missing Jake’s birthday BBQ party we had been planning.
When I got home, Jake was happily chopping vegetables. “Something smells amazing,” I said, trying to delay breaking the news. But he sensed my hesitation. “What’s wrong?” he asked, and when I told him about Denver, his smile faltered. “The birthday BBQ…” he whispered, and I saw the hurt in his eyes.
“Work is important,” he said with forced acceptance. I promised to make it up to him, hugging him tightly, not knowing what awaited us.
The week in Denver was intense yet successful, and I wrapped things up early, eager to surprise Jake. However, as I turned onto our street, something felt off. Cars lined the road, and people walked toward our house. My heart raced; my first thought was that something had happened to Jake.
I rushed to the backyard, where I was met with an unimaginable sight: rows of chairs and flower arrangements adorned our lawn, with a massive portrait of me surrounded by black ribbons. I was watching people attend my funeral.
“Jake!” I called, panic rising in my chest. He turned, anger flooding his face. “What are you doing here?” he shouted. “What am I doing here? What is this?” I snapped. “Why are you hosting my funeral?!”
“Your mom told me the truth!” he yelled. “About your promotion. About how you’re leaving me behind!” I was stunned—he was referencing a promotion I hadn’t shared with anyone yet, wanting to discuss it together when I returned.
“Mom told you?” I exclaimed, just as my mother pushed through the crowd, apologizing. “I thought he knew, sweetie,” she said, but I interrupted, furious. “Thanks for ruining everything, Mom!”
Turning back to Jake, I gestured to the setup. “This is your response? Throwing me a funeral because you think I’m leaving you?”
“You were gonna abandon everything we built!” he argued, his voice cracking. “You were gonna leave me to settle in Denver. I thought this was your way of getting rid of our relationship.”
“No, you absolute idiot! The company offered you a position too! I was waiting to tell you everything! I wanted us to decide as a team!”
“Wait, what?” he stammered.
“They offered you a senior accountant position. I wanted us to move together!” Tears streamed down my face. “But this? Hosting my funeral? That’s not what trust looks like.”
He reached for my hand, but I stepped back. “I’m staying at my mom’s tonight. We need to talk about boundaries.”
As I walked past the chairs and flowers, I realized this funeral wasn’t just for the woman Jake thought was leaving him; it was for our marriage, our trust, and the partnership I thought we had. I later learned that Jake had told everyone he was throwing a ‘special welcome home surprise party.’
The next day, I accepted the promotion and called a divorce lawyer. I had to leave Jake.
Looking back, I’m grateful for fate’s intervention. All those years of trying for children turned out to be a blessing in disguise—at least there wouldn’t be kids to witness their father throw a funeral for their living mother just to prove a point.
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