Going to see my husband Owen’s grave every Sunday made me feel better until strange people started throwing eggs at it. At first, I thought it was a mean joke, but when I caught the person who did it, I learnt a shocking truth.
A year after Owen’s unexpected death, we kept doing what we always did every week. It was, however, scratched by eggshells three months ago. A lot of things happened that broke my heart.
I was determined to find out what happened, so I talked to the graveyard staff, made a report, and finally caught the person who did it: my sister Madison.
I was shocked when Madison told me she had been having an affair with Owen for five years. She cut like a knife with her words, “He lied to us both.” Thoughts of Owen’s late-night calls, whispered talks, and Madison’s closeness came back to mind.
Madison’s daughter Carly disagreed with her mother’s claims and said she did what she did because she was jealous. She told him, “Hold on to your love for Uncle Owen.”
I was torn between uncertainty and trust, but I decided to treasure the memories of our time together. Owen’s memory for our children would not be harmed by Madison’s anger.
The next Sunday, I went back to the graveyard, which was once again quiet. “Goodbye, Madison,” I said in a low voice. “You won’t take him from me.”
