Right after my mother’s funeral, my father married his mistress. He even smirked and said, “I’ve waited long enough.” I thought nothing could hurt more than watching my mom slowly pass away—until I saw my father walk directly from her graveside to a church… where his mistress was waiting in a white wedding dress. But just as the ceremony was about to start, the priest pulled out a secret will my mother had prepared. My stepmother’s face went pale. And my father? He nearly collapsed when the truth came out.
I never imagined I’d witness anything more painful than my mother’s slow, agonizing death—until I saw my father walk straight from her funeral to meet his mistress, dressed in a wedding gown.
I stood there, stunned, unable to fully process the scene. The funeral had just ended. The last handful of dirt had been scattered onto my mother’s grave. People were still standing nearby, softly murmuring condolences and wiping their tears. My sister, Maria, gripped a crumpled tissue, silently shaking with sobs. My younger brother, Javier, hadn’t spoken all day, his face tight with grief too heavy to put into words.
And my father? He didn’t even pretend to mourn.
Throughout the service, I watched him closely, hoping for even a glimpse of sorrow beneath his self-absorbed mask. Instead, he kept glancing at his watch—not once looking at my mother’s coffin or her portrait.
As soon as the final prayer ended, he spun on his heel and walked away—not toward us, but to a woman standing just beyond the cemetery path beneath the trees. It was Nicole, his mistress. She wore a coat against the chilly breeze, but beneath it, I caught a glimpse of unmistakable white lace.
A wave of nausea hit me.
“Is that…” Maria whispered, voice tight with shock.
Javier muttered, “That’s Nicole.”
My father reached her side and, without hesitation, took her hand and kissed it right there. I heard Maria’s sharp intake of breath and saw Javier’s fists clench. The few remaining mourners stared, their faces contorted in disbelief.
Then my father turned to us, a small, satisfied smile on his lips. “I’ve waited long enough,” he announced.
Those words hit me like a jolt. Nicole tightened her grip on his arm and addressed the stunned crowd. “Alfredo and I are getting married today.”
A heavy, horrified silence fell over the cemetery.
“What did you just say?” I managed to ask.
Nicole’s smile widened. “We’re getting married today. We already booked the church.”
I stared at my father, waiting for him to deny it, to say anything. But he simply nodded, an infuriating look of relief on his face. The church—they were planning to marry in the very same church where we had just held my mother’s funeral mass.
Something inside me snapped. “You’re seriously getting married today?”
“She’s gone,” my father said, as if that was the whole explanation. “She was my wife for thirty years, but life moves on.”
Before I could react, the priest’s voice cut through the cold air.
“Actually, Alfredo,” Father Dominic said, who had just performed my mother’s service, “there’s something you should see before you get married.”
The Secret Will
Father Dominic held a thick folder. My father frowned. “What’s that?”
“I wasn’t going to reveal this today,” the priest replied calmly. “But given your… urgency… I think it’s only fair.”
He opened the folder, pulled out a single document, and began to read. That’s when I saw the first crack in my father’s composure. His face drained of color. Nicole’s confident smile faded.
The document was a will. But not the one my father had shown us—the one leaving everything to him. This was a secret will, written by my mother before she died, that changed everything.
Father Dominic read steadily: “I, Anna Moreno, being of sound mind and body, hereby revoke my previous will. I leave my home, savings, and all assets solely to my children, Maria Moreno and Javier Moreno.” He looked up at my father. “My husband, Alfredo Moreno, receives… nothing.”
Nothing. The word hung in the cold silence.
I turned to my father. His smug confidence was shattered, replaced by raw panic. Nicole took a cautious step back.
“This is a joke,” my father finally gasped.
“It’s not,” the priest said, holding out the document. My father snatched it, scanning the words as if willing them to change. Nicole peered over his shoulder, eyes narrowing. She was looking for the numbers—my mother’s savings and investments—that my father had always assumed would be his, promised to his mistress.
And now, they were gone.
“No, this can’t be legal,” he muttered, shaking his head.
“It is legal,” the priest confirmed. “Anna made sure of that.”
My father’s face turned red with fury. “She couldn’t have done this,” he rasped. “She wouldn’t!”
Maria scoffed bitterly. “You mean after you cheated on her while she was dying of cancer?”
He flinched as if struck. Nicole stayed silent, her panic replaced by cold calculation.
The Reckoning
I saw the moment Nicole decided. She stepped decisively away.
“Nicole,” my father snapped, glaring at her, “this changes nothing. We’ll fight it. I’ll contest this!”
Her lips parted, then slowly she shook her head. “It’s over for me.”
And just like that, she turned and walked away without looking back.
My father stared after her, stunned. For the first time, I saw real fear in his eyes—a raw, undeniable fear. He was alone, and he knew it.
Maria squared her shoulders, staring him down. “You have until the end of the week to leave the house.”
He snapped back, “The house isn’t yours.”
I spoke coldly, “It’s ours. You heard the will.”
His eyes darted to Javier, searching for support.
“Don’t look at me,” Javier said flatly. “You did this to yourself.”
My father suddenly seemed small, crushed by the weight of reality. He scoffed hollowly, “I don’t need this house. I’ll land on my feet.”
But we all knew the truth. The man who had betrayed his dying wife, standing at her grave planning his next wedding, was finally getting what he deserved.
He chuckled bitterly. “You’ll regret this,” he muttered. But it was empty.
We left without another word, leaving him alone in the cemetery—a man who had lost everything.
The Silence of Regret
His downfall was slow but complete.
He fought the will in court and lost. He tried moving in with Nicole, but she blocked his number. His business, held together quietly by my mother, collapsed without her. Clients left, bills piled up, and his reputation was ruined. He sold his car, his watch, then whatever pride he had left.
The last time I saw him, he lived in a tiny, run-down apartment in the Bronx. He looked at me from the doorway, and for the first time, I saw something new: regret. Not anger or arrogance—just the hollow shame of a man who threw everything away.
He didn’t ask for anything. He knew the answer.
I turned and walked away, the door creaking shut behind me, sealing him inside his own ruin. He had spent his life chasing more—money, power, control. Now, left with nothing, he faced only the deafening silence of regret.
Maybe that was the cruelest, most fitting punishment of all.
