My marriage with Jake was perfect until I came home from a business trip and found him hosting my funeral. Guests dressed in black filled our backyard, flowers covered every surface, and my portrait, surrounded by black ribbons, stood at the front. Shocked, I confronted Jake.
“Why are you hosting my funeral?” I demanded.
He shouted back, “Your mom told me you’re moving to Denver, abandoning me!”
I was speechless. The promotion offer had included a position for him, too, but I hadn’t mentioned it yet, waiting to discuss it after my trip.
“You think I’d leave without telling you? They offered you a senior accountant role!” I snapped, tears streaming down my face.
Jake was stunned, but it was too late. His insecurities and lack of trust broke what we’d built. I left that night, realizing the funeral wasn’t just for me—it was for our marriage.
The next day, I accepted the promotion and called a divorce lawyer. Looking back, I’m grateful we never had children. No child should have to witness their father throw a funeral for their living mother over a misunderstanding.
