FOUR WOMEN AT THE FUNERAL
CHAPTER 1: THE PERFECT HUSBAND
My name is Elizabeth Miller.
My husband, Jonathan Miller, and I had been married for exactly ten years. If anyone ever asked me what I was most proud of during those ten years, my answer was always the same: I had married a good man.
Jonathan was the kind of man any woman would want to spend her entire life with.
He was tall, soft-spoken, and had never raised his voice at me—not even once. He worked in financial investment, earning around $350,000 a year, more than enough for our family to live comfortably without worrying about money. But what made me trust him completely was never his income.
It was the way he lived.
Every morning, no matter how busy he was, Jonathan made coffee for me with his own hands. Every evening, he came home on time to have dinner with me and our children. On weekends, he took our two daughters to the park, taught them piano, helped them learn to paint. My friends often said to me:
“Elizabeth, you’re so lucky. Men like your husband don’t exist anymore.”
I believed them.
We had two daughters together: Anna, ten years old, and Lily, seven. I always believed that children were gifts from God. A son or a daughter—it didn’t matter. As long as they were healthy and well-behaved, I asked for nothing more.
But society didn’t think the same way.
At family gatherings, relatives or Jonathan’s friends would half-joke, half-serious:
“Two beautiful princesses, sure—but the Miller family without a son still feels… incomplete.”
Every time I heard that, I would glance at Jonathan, afraid he might be influenced.
But he would only smile, squeeze my hand tightly, and say:
“I don’t need a son. Having you and our two daughters is more than enough for me.”
Those words once brought tears of happiness to my eyes.
I never imagined they would turn out to be the biggest lie of my life.
CHAPTER 2: THE FATEFUL RAINY NIGHT
The tragedy happened on a torrential October night.
Jonathan called me close to eleven p.m., saying he was on his way home after meeting a business partner. His voice sounded normal. He even reminded me to lock the doors tightly because the rain was heavy.
That was the last call.
About thirty minutes later, my phone rang again—this time from the hospital.
“Are you Mr. Jonathan Miller’s wife?”
Before I could fully understand what was happening, the voice on the other end continued:
“Your husband has been involved in a serious traffic accident. Please come to the hospital immediately.”
Trembling, I threw on a coat, called someone to watch the children, and rushed out into the rain.
But I was too late.
Jonathan didn’t survive. He died from severe brain hemorrhaging.
When I ran into the emergency room and saw his lifeless body lying there, it felt as if someone was crushing my heart with their bare hands. I collapsed to the floor, unable even to cry.
Ten years of marriage.
Two young children.
Everything was destroyed in a single rainy night.
I thought losing my husband was the greatest pain I would ever endure.
I was wrong.
CHAPTER 3: THE FUNERAL AND THE FOUR WOMEN
Jonathan’s funeral was held on a grand scale.
Family members, friends, and business partners filled the hall. I wore black and stood beside my husband’s coffin, forcing myself not to collapse because my daughters were standing next to me.
I had to be strong for them.
In the middle of the ceremony, a relative rushed in, pulled me aside, and whispered nervously:
“Elizabeth… something’s happening outside.”
“What is it?”
“There are… four women asking to see you.”
I frowned.
“Who are they?”
The relative swallowed hard.
“They’re all… pregnant.”
I walked outside.
And froze.
At the entrance of the funeral home stood four women—four unfamiliar faces—each wearing maternity dresses. Their pregnant bellies were unmistakable. They stood side by side, calm and well-dressed, not a trace of grief on their faces.
One of them spoke first:
“We’d like to go inside to pay our respects to Jonathan one last time.”
Another added:
“And to discuss the rights of our children.”
My ears rang.
“What… did you just say?”
A younger woman gently rubbed her belly.
“We’re all carrying Jonathan’s children.”
My world collapsed.
CHAPTER 4: THE HORRIFYING TRUTH
I looked at each of the women standing before me.
No one cried.
No one mourned.
Their eyes were filled only with calculation.
They weren’t there to offer condolences.
They were there to claim inheritance.
The pain tore my heart apart, but I refused to fall in front of them.
Taking a deep breath, I said in a voice so cold it surprised even me:
“You claim these are my husband’s children. I’ll need proof.”
One woman shrugged.
“He’s gone now. We can do DNA tests later.”
I nodded.
“Fine. Give birth first. If the children are proven to be Jonathan’s, then we’ll talk.”
They looked at one another. No one objected.
After the funeral, I felt like a hollow shell.
I unlocked Jonathan’s phone.
And then… message after message, call after call appeared before my eyes like knives stabbing straight into my heart.
Jonathan had been involved with four different women for years.
Secret dates.
Promises whispered in the dark.
Words I once believed were meant only for me.
Then I realized a truth even more horrifying:
👉 Jonathan didn’t not want a son.
👉 He was desperately trying to have one—by any means necessary.
Four women.
Four pregnancies.
All in pursuit of a son.
CHAPTER 5: THE WIFE COLLAPSES
I sat motionless all night, clutching the phone in my hands.
The perfect husband in my eyes, in my family’s eyes, in society’s eyes—was nothing more than a blatant betrayer.
He loved me.
But at the same time, he deceived me.
He said he didn’t need a son.
Yet secretly searched for one outside our marriage.
I cried until I had no tears left.
Not only because I lost my husband.
But because my faith in him had died.
CHAPTER 6: THE ROAD AHEAD
I now face a future I don’t even know how to walk into.
If all four women give birth to Jonathan’s children…
My family will be shattered.
My two daughters will have to share their father with other children—children born from betrayal.
I watch my daughters sleep, my heart aching like it’s being sliced open.
I ask myself:
Who was the man I loved for ten years, really?
And what must I do to protect my children?
Outside, the rain begins to fall again.
Just like the night Jonathan died.
But this time, I know:
I didn’t just lose my husband.
I lost a marriage I once believed was perfect.
