…a beloved husband and devoted community member… Survived by his wife, his parents, and his children — Liam, Noah, and Chloe.
I stared at the line, then read it again.
Children?
Mark and I never had children. He was infertile.
My hands started trembling as I grabbed the phone and called the funeral home.
“There’s a mistake in the obituary.”
“Of course, Ma’am. Which part?”
“The part where my husband apparently had three children,” I said, my voice rising.
There was a pause — the kind that means the other person is choosing their words very carefully.
“Ma’am,” the director said, “your husband updated his obituary file himself. A few days before the aneurysm.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I understand,” he replied gently. “But the change came directly from his account. His login, his password.”
I hung up. Then I screamed. After that, I just sat there staring at the wall.
Years ago, before Mark and I even got engaged, he had sat me down for a serious conversation.
“Before we go any further,” he said quietly, “you should know something about me. I can’t have children. A doctor confirmed it years ago. If you want kids, Carol, you should leave me now.”
I had always imagined becoming a mother someday. But when I looked at his face in that moment, I realized something important.
I wanted him more.
So I smiled through the sting of disappointment and said, “Well, then I guess we’ll just have to spoil everyone else’s.”
