At my husband’s funeral, his daughter arrived wearing white and said I didn’t know the truth about the man I’d been married to for 32 years. I didn’t argue — but I knew something about her story didn’t add up.I met Thomas 34 years ago, and I can tell you right now, it felt like a movie script.He was handsome, kind, and had this way of making me feel like the only person in the room.He had a daughter named Elena from that first marriage, and even though she lived in a different city with her mother, she was an inseparable part of our lives.I treated her like my own daughter.And if anyone had told me that sweet girl would one day turn against me, I’d never have believed it.

Thomas and I were married for 32 years.Elena spent her vacations and weekends with us when she was younger. We watched her graduate from high school and then college.I cried at her wedding. Thomas did, too, but for an entirely different reason. He thought Elena deserved better.We were a family. There were arguments about Elena’s husband, and Thanksgivings where we all still felt like a real family.Then Thomas died of a heart attack, and my world nearly collapsed.The day of the funeral was a gray, heavy afternoon.The church was packed. Family, colleagues, and old friends all gathered to say goodbye to a man they respected.I was sitting in the front row, clutching a damp tissue, when the heavy doors at the back of the church swung open.A hush fell over the room.I turned around, expecting latecomers, but I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.