I returned from a business trip to find my backyard set up for a funeral—my own. My husband Jake, greeting guests dressed in black, had planned the whole thing.
He’d learned from my mother about a promotion I hadn’t shared with him yet, and assumed I was leaving him for good.
In reality, I’d planned for us to move together, as the company had offered him a position too. His reaction—throwing me a funeral instead of talking to me—revealed deep cracks in our relationship. I left that night, accepted the promotion, and decided to divorce Jake. It wasn’t just my funeral; it was the end of our marriage.
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