My Daughter Died While My Husband Vacationed With His Secretary. Seven Days Later, He Came Home Smiling to Discover That Grief Had Already Taken Everything From Him.218

“When is the funeral?”

I stared at him.

“It was yesterday.”

His head lifted.

“You buried her?”

“Yes.”

“Without me?”

The cruelty of the question stole my breath.

“You were in Miami.”

“You should have waited.”

I laughed.

It sounded broken.

“You wanted me to keep our dead three-year-old daughter somewhere until you finished your vacation?”

“Don’t call it that.”

“What should I call it?”

He said nothing.

I threw Mr.

Button at him.

The rabbit struck his chest and fell into his lap.

Arthur looked down.

He touched one worn ear.

Then finally—

finally—

he began to cry.

For Chloe.

For himself.

For everything.

I wish I could tell you seeing him break gave me satisfaction.

It did not.

It only made me remember our daughter calling for him.

Arthur pressed the rabbit against his face.

“I didn’t know.”

I stood there watching him.

“I wish that were true.”