Meredith stood tearfully in front of her husband Justin’s freshly dug grave. Everyone had left after the funeral, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the mound of earth.
“Oh, Justin, how happy we were. If only I could see you one more time,” she thought, recalling their first meeting at 16, the spark that convinced her he was the one, and their countless dates that led to 55 years of marriage.
Justin had been a devoted husband, and while they had struggled with infertility, their love had filled that void—until the tragic call informing her of his death in a car accident. Meredith sat by the grave, sobbing, wishing for just one more moment with him.
As night fell, she walked into Justin’s study, still infused with his scent. “Why did this happen to us, Justin?” she cried, remembering how she used to chastise him for working late. She opened his desk drawer, filled with documents she had often despised, longing instead for his return.
Then something caught her eye—a crumpled piece of paper with an address: “Clara Bamford, 50 Oakland Ave, #206, Florida.” Curiosity piqued, she unfolded the paper and began reading an unfinished letter.
“Dear Clara,” it began. “Sorry for not being able to find time for you… I can’t wait to see you and little Sophia…” The rest faded away.
Stunned, Meredith found photos of Justin with a young woman and a little girl. “Is this what you were doing on your business trips?” she sobbed, heartbroken.
A knock interrupted her despair. It was her friend Jessica. “Oh, Jess! Justin… he was…” she stammered.
“Calm down, Meredith. It’ll be okay,” Jessica reassured her.
“No, Jess. Justin was cheating on me!” Meredith cried.
Jessica’s eyes widened in disbelief. “I can’t believe that. Are you sure?”
“Look at this,” Meredith handed her the letter.
“Maybe he wrote it for someone else?” Jessica suggested, but Meredith felt her world crumbling.
“I’ll find out the truth. If he was unfaithful, I won’t forgive him,” she vowed, booking a flight to Florida the next day.
Upon arriving, a young woman opened the door. “Are you Clara Bamford?” Meredith asked, struggling to mask her anger.
“Yes,” Clara replied, confused. “How do you know my name?”
“I’m Justin’s wife. He died last week,” Meredith said, rage boiling inside her.
Clara’s face fell. “Oh my God. He was a father figure to me. I’m so sorry for your loss!”
“Father figure?” Meredith echoed, bewildered.
Clara invited her inside and explained how Justin had helped her when she was a struggling teenager, pregnant and abandoned. “He was a generous soul, always there for me and my daughter Sophia.”
Meredith felt shame wash over her. “I shouldn’t have judged him,” she admitted.
Just then, the door opened, and a tall man entered with a little girl. “I’m Tyler, Clara’s husband,” he said, extending condolences. “Justin helped Clara immensely.”
“Thank you,” Meredith said, feeling grateful.
Later, Clara called to say they were moving to New York and asked to stay with Meredith temporarily. Their bond grew quickly, and soon they were family. Little Sophia even called her “Grandma Meredith.”
As Meredith gazed at the stars one evening, she whispered, “I wish you were here, Justin. Clara, Tyler, and Sophia have filled my life with joy. Please be happy wherever you are. I love you!”
