I anticipated that the day of my father’s funeral would be spent in silent grief, paying tribute to the man who had kept our family united. I had no idea that my stepmother would make it into her own personal drama until my dad’s letter exposed truths that made her and her children seem bad in front of everyone.
One of the most difficult days of my life was already the day of my father’s funeral. That morning, knowing I was going to say goodbye to the guy who had kept our family together, I had hardly been able to control my emotions.
He had been ill for a while, and although we all anticipated this day, nothing could have prepared me for the crushing weight of it when it eventually came.
And then they appeared.
My stepmother, Vivian, waltzed in like she was walking a catwalk, her four grown children following suit in matching white outfits. Glaring white, as if they had lost their way to a posh yacht party, they looked stark.
Everybody else was covered in black, their heads lowered in sorrow. not them, though. No, they walked in with the air of exclusivity, making headlines for all the wrong reasons.
I was seeing things that I couldn’t believe. Anger tightening in my chest, I pushed through the mob and headed straight for her.
“Vivian,” I snapped, my voice low but sharp enough to cut through the soft murmurs around us, “what the hell are you doing? Why are you dressed like—” I gestured wildly at her flowing white dress and her kids’ matching outfits, “—like this at my dad’s funeral?”
Not even a flinch from her. Rather, she shot me this smug, lethargic look that made my blood boil even more.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said, dragging out the words like I was a child throwing a tantrum. “Don’t get all worked up. Your father wanted this.”
“Wanted this?” I repeated, trying not to become too excited, but my voice getting louder. “There’s no way Dad would’ve—”
She interrupted me by taking an elegantly folded envelope out of her fancy handbag. She held up a letter as though it held the answer to everything. “He wrote me a letter,” she said. “Vivian, you and the children are to wear white,” she informed me. “It’s my final request.”
I felt the gazes of those around us as I gazed at the letter in her palm. Already, rumors were beginning to circulate among the throng.
“No,” I said with a head shake. “There’s no way he—”
“He did, darling,” she interrupted with a sigh, her eyes gleaming as though she was enjoying the scene. “He told me it was going to be something special. You should be grateful we’re honoring his wishes.”
Behind me, I could hear people gasping, and with every second that went by, the tension in the room increased.
“Are you serious?” With a shaky voice, I demanded. “You really expect me to believe Dad wanted this — to turn his funeral into some… spectacle?”
Vivian shrugged, tucking the letter back into her bag. “Believe whatever you want,” she said coolly, “but we’re just following his final instructions. It’s what he wanted.”
Before I could say anything more, she turned to face her children and said, “Come on, let’s go take our seats. I could feel my hands shaking.” We wish to avoid being late.
I watched in disbelief as they walked casually into the front row, leaving me to stew in a whirlwind of angst and bewilderment.
As the ceremony got underway, she and her children actually found themselves in the front row, looking like VIPs at some fancy gala. With their nearly blazing white outfits against the backdrop of black-clad mourners, they relished the attention.
My dad’s closest friend Joe moved to the front just as I was beginning to lose it at their haughtiness. His eyes were heavy with sorrow, and his face was tense with emotion, but there was something more there as well, a stiffness that turned my stomach.
As he cleared his throat, the entire room fell silent, and all eyes went to him. Something clutched a letter in his hand.
“Vivian,” he uttered in a calm yet forceful voice. He motioned for her to get up, and I caught the faintest trace of a smile crossing her lips. Her chin lifted as if she were going to accept an award as she gently stood up. Her children trailed behind, standing next to her with self-satisfied expressions.
Joe started, his voice faltering slightly, “Your spouse wrote this letter.”
The whole audience appeared to hold its breath as Joe steadily started reading from the letter.
Joe read, “To my dearest friends and family,” his voice full with emotion. “I would want to thank everyone for coming today and paying tribute to my memories. Something has been on my mind and shoulders that I need to confront.”
I looked across at Vivian. Her once arrogant and superior look started to change. Her gaze darted nervously about the room as she straightened, a glimmer of unease creeping into her eyes.
Joe went on, “I couldn’t help but observe that my ex-wife, Martha, was the one who looked after me during my illness. When I most needed her, she was there, but Vivian and her children were never around—unless they required anything from me, of course.”
Vivian’s expression became colorless. Her body tensed; as though she were willing herself to vanish, she stood.
Her children, who had been seated with assurance, were now uneasy, their eyes bulging with terror.
There were murmurs going through the crowd like a wave, and I saw looks of amazement exchanged between people.
“That’s not true!” Vivian growled beneath her breath, but her anxiety was evident in the crack in her voice.
Joe hesitated just a bit. “I realized that my new family wasn’t as interested in me as they were in what I could offer them.” “And then,” he glared at Vivian, “I discovered that money had been missing from my accounts through my financial adviser.” After looking into it, we found that Vivian and her kids were responsible.”
The room gave a collective gasp. The sound seemed to cause the walls themselves to tremble. The guests’ eyes were fixed on Vivian’s children, who had been seated so firmly, but now they appeared as pale as ghosts.
Vivian’s calm facade broke completely as her face twisted in rage. She cried, her voice shaking with rage, “This is a lie!” “Wholly imaginary! This crap is really unbelievable!”
Her fists clinched as she sent a wildly seeking glance across the room, seemingly in search of someone to stand up for her.
However, nobody said anything. There was an unbearable quiet.
Joe’s eyes remained fixed. Raising the letter once more, he spoke without hesitating.
“I anticipated that they would attend my burial with the intention of acting as the bereaved family. I thus requested that they wear white. In order for everyone to recognize them for who they are, I wanted them to stand out.”
With disbelieving wide eyes, Vivian let out a gasp. She spit out, “You bastard,” her voice trembling with acrid wrath. “You really think you can treat me like this in front of everyone? This is something you’ll regret! Everyone of you will.”
However, Joe continued. His voice was crystal sharp, a dagger slicing through her fury. “Vivian, you and your kids are not permitted to be here any longer. For those who loved me for me, not for what I could do for them, this is the spot. Kindly depart so that my real relatives and friends can grieve in silence.”
The quiet felt oppressive. With anticipation of Vivian and her children’s next move, every eye in the room was fixated on them. She had a jumbled expression on her face, displaying anger, humiliation, and amazement. Her eyes were wild with rage, and for a moment it looked as though she may burst.
She turned to look around, though, and saw the visitors’ icy, merciless glares on their faces. Any last strength she may have had evaporated under the weight of criticism.
Her children, who had previously shown such arrogant assurance, trembled beneath the inspection, staring at the ground as though they could melt into it.
With a loud huff, Vivian’s lips curled in contempt. “All right!” She yanked her handbag off the chair and spat, saying, “This whole thing is a farce anyway.” Despite the vitriol in her voice, it was evident to all that she was cornered. Beaten. “Come on,” she yelled at her children, her tone as piercing as shattered glass.
With a wrath that belied her shame, Vivian marched for the exit, her heels clicking against the ground.
She was aware that she was done.
A dense stillness followed when the door slammed shut behind them. For a long period there was silence, as if the room was finally clearing out after the storm.
Joe calmly folded the letter, his eyes scanning the room with a somber expression. “Now,” he said, his voice steady, “let’s continue with remembering the man who truly deserves to be honored today.”
Thus, we acted. The ceremony proceeded in a serene manner, honoring my dad’s life in the company of those who had cherished him for his true self. We told tales that encapsulated the spirit of the man who had united us all, and we laughed and we wept.
What about Vivian? She received precisely what she deserved: a humiliating and shameful exit. My dad was the last to laugh, even in death. He had revealed them, taken away their masks, and ensured that in the end the truth was revealed.
Even though my dad had passed away, his wisdom and sense of justice remained strong. One thing was obvious to me as I listened to Joe tell a humorous anecdote about my dad.
I muttered, “Dad always knew how to pick his moments.”
Now Trending:
- Fast Food Giant Announces It Is Permanently Closing Some Doors For Good
- Celine Dion In Tears As She Reveals Update On SPS Battle
- If You See A Wire Tied To Your Car Door Handle, You’d Better Know What It Means
Please SHARE this story and let us know what you think in comments!
