I expected my husband’s support when my mom passed away, but he picked a Hawaii trip over my pain! Shocked and heartbroken, I faced the funeral alone. But when he came back, he walked into a scene he never expected, as I taught him a lesson he’d never forget.
I was at work when my phone showed the doctor’s number, and somehow, I just knew. My heart sank before I even answered.
Verna was gone. Just like that. One moment she was battling a small lung infection, the next… nothing made sense.
I don’t recall driving home. One minute I was at my desk, the next I was fumbling with my keys, eyes blurry with tears. Theron’s car was in the driveway.
He must’ve had another “work from home” day, which usually meant watching sports on mute while pretending to check emails.
“Theron?” My voice echoed in our house. “Theron, I need you.”
He appeared in the kitchen doorway, coffee cup in hand, looking mildly annoyed at the interruption. “What’s wrong? You look awful.”
I tried to speak, but the words caught between my heart and throat. Instead, I just shook my head and reached out like a kid. He set down his cup with a sigh and gave me an awkward pat, like he was soothing a stranger.
“My mom,” I finally choked out. “She’s… she died, Theron. Verna died.”
His arms tightened briefly. “Oh. Wow. That’s… I’m sorry, honey.”
He stepped back. “Want me to get takeout tonight? Maybe that Thai place you like?”
I nodded blankly, barely hearing him. Verna was gone. The woman who taught me to ride a bike, worked two jobs to get me through college after Dad left, who still called every Sunday to talk… gone.
The next morning, reality hit hard. There was so much to do! I had to plan the funeral, call family and friends, and sort through a lifetime of memories. I was making lists at the kitchen table when I remembered our upcoming trip.
“Theron, we’ll need to cancel Hawaii,” I said, glancing up from my phone. “The funeral’s likely next week, and—”
“Cancel?” Theron lowered his newspaper, frowning. “Elara, those tickets can’t be refunded. We’d lose thousands. Plus, I’ve already booked my golf slots at the resort.”
I stared, certain I’d misheard. “Theron, my mother just died.”
He folded the paper carefully, like he was holding back annoyance.
“Look, I know you’re upset, but funerals are for family. I’m just your husband—no one will care if I’m not there. Your cousins hardly know me.”
His words hit like a slap. “Just my husband?”
“You know what I mean.” He avoided my eyes, suddenly focused on fixing his tie. “Besides, someone should use the tickets. You can handle things here, and you know I’m no good with… emotional stuff.”
I felt like I was seeing Theron clearly for the first time in our fifteen years together.
How had I missed the way he tuned out when I shared my feelings? The way he treated emotions like annoying disruptions to his orderly life?
The next week was a haze of tears and tasks.
Theron would sometimes pat my shoulder when he caught me crying, offering tips like, “Maybe try a sleeping pill” or “How about watching something funny?”
The day before the funeral, he left for Hawaii with a quick kiss on my cheek and a “Text me if you need me!”
As if he could help from 4,000 miles away. As if he’d even want to.
I buried my mother on a rainy Thursday. While I listened to the pastor speak about eternal life, Theron posted Instagram stories of beach drinks with tiny umbrellas. “#IslandVibes,” he captioned one. “#BestLife.”
Alone in our quiet house that night, surrounded by sympathy dishes I couldn’t eat, something in me broke.
I’d spent fifteen years excusing Theron’s emotional distance. “He’s just not a feelings guy,” I’d tell my friends. “He shows love differently.”
But how, exactly? With fancy gifts to dodge real talks? With big trips he could escape to when life got tough?
My friend Livia was a realtor. One call set my plan in motion.
“You want me to what?” she asked, laughing in shock.
“List our house. Online only, open house tomorrow. And mention the car comes with it.”
“The convertible? Theron’s baby? Elara, he’ll lose it! That car’s his pride and joy.”
“That’s the point,” I said. “He loves that car more than anything. More than me, for sure.”
“Are you sure? Grief can make you do wild things…”
“I’ve never been more certain. Can you do it?”
The next morning, right on cue, a stream of “buyers” arrived. I sat at the kitchen table, sipping coffee, watching them eye Theron’s precious Porsche like hawks.
When Theron’s Uber pulled up, I couldn’t help but grin. Showtime.
Theron stormed in, face red as a beet. “Elara! Why are people touching my car? Some guy asked if the leather seats were original!”
I took a slow sip of coffee. “Oh, that. I’m selling the house. And the car’s a great perk, don’t you think? Really seals the deal.”
“Selling the—” He sputtered, pulling out his phone. “Are you crazy? I’ll call Livia and get this listing down now!”
“Go ahead,” I said calmly. “I’m sure she’d love to hear from you. Maybe tell her about your trip too. How was the beach? Your photos looked nice.”
He stared, realization creeping across his face. “Is this… some kind of payback? Did I mess up?”
“What do you mean? I’m just doing what you’d do: putting myself first.” I stood, letting some anger show. “After all, I’m just your wife. Not family, right?”
The next hour was a mess. Theron ran around, trying to chase off buyers while begging me to rethink. One older couple was relentless, the wife raving about how the Porsche would be perfect for her “weekend drives.”
I thought Theron might actually cry. I let him panic until Livia texted that she was running out of friends to send over.
“Okay, fine,” I said to Theron. “You’re right. I won’t sell the house.” I paused for effect. “Or the car.”
Theron slumped with relief. “Thank God. Elara, I—”
I held up a hand. “But things are changing, Theron. I lost my mother, and you couldn’t even skip a vacation. I needed my husband, and you were too busy posting beach selfies to care.”
He looked guilty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”
“No, you didn’t. But you will now. Because next time you pull something like this, it won’t be a fake listing. And you can bet your precious leather seats on that.”
He nodded, looking like a scolded kid. “What can I do to fix it?”
“Start by acting like a partner, not a roommate who sometimes shares my bed. My mom’s gone, Theron. She was my only parent left, and I’ll need time to grieve. Real grief, not the kind you can fix with a nice dinner or a shiny gift.”
“I…” His face tightened, jaw clenched. “I don’t know how to be the man you need, Elara, but I love you and I want to try.”
Things aren’t perfect now. Theron still struggles with feelings that can’t be solved with money. But he goes to therapy twice a month, and last week, he actually asked how I was feeling about Verna.
He sat and listened as I talked about missing her Sunday calls, and how I still reach for the phone to share something funny before remembering she’s gone. He even shared a bit about his own feelings.
Small steps.
Sometimes I think about what Verna would say. I can almost hear her laugh, see her shaking her head.
“That’s my girl,” she’d say. “Don’t let them see you break—just show ‘em the ‘For Sale’ sign instead.”
She taught me strength comes in many forms. Sometimes it’s pushing through pain, and sometimes it’s knowing when to push back.
