The atmosphere at my husband’s funeral was heavy with grief. Surrounded by whispered condolences and the scent of freshly turned earth, I couldn’t bring myself to leave the final resting place of the man I loved.

It was during this moment of sorrow that I encountered an elderly lady, cradling a tiny baby in her arms. Confusion and unease washed over me as I observed her, wondering how she was connected to my faithful husband.

With all the courage I could muster, I approached her cautiously, my voice trembling with emotion as I asked, “Who are you to my husband?” Her answer struck me like a bolt of lightning. “To him, I’m nobody,” she said with a pleading tone. “But this is his child. He can’t be with his mother anymore. Only you can raise him. Please!”

It felt as if the ground had been ripped from under my feet, my world spinning into disbelief. The man I had trusted so completely had been unfaithful and fathered a child with another woman. The reality of his betrayal overwhelmed me, and anger surged through me as I recoiled from the old woman’s outstretched arms. “Leave!” I snapped, my voice sharp with hurt. “My husband would never cheat on me. You’re lying!”