The rain was a cold and persistent drizzle that felt like needles against my skin as I stood by the edge of the open grave.
I clutched a single black rose in my trembling hand while the priest spoke words about eternal rest and the peace of the soul.
My mother was in that mahogany box and she was the only person who had ever truly loved me without conditions or fine print.
I felt a hollow ache in my chest that was so profound I thought my heart might actually stop beating right there in the mud.
My husband Mark stood beside me looking every bit the grieving son-in-law in his tailored charcoal suit and silk tie.
He held a black umbrella over both of us but his arm felt stiff and his presence felt like a performance for the benefit of the small crowd.
I noticed that his other hand was tucked deep into his pocket and I could see the rhythmic twitching of his thumb through the fabric.
Ever since my mother had been diagnosed with terminal cancer six months ago Mark had become a ghost in our own home.
He claimed work was piling up and that the firm needed him more than ever but I saw the way he shielded his phone screen whenever I entered the room.
I chose to ignore the signs because I was drowning in grief and I needed to believe that my husband was the man I married ten years ago.
The priest finished the final prayer and signaled for the immediate family to step forward for the final farewell.
As I leaned down to place the rose on the lid of the casket Mark’s phone vibrated loudly enough for me to hear it over the falling rain.
He didn't pull his hand out of his pocket but I saw him glance down with an urgency that was entirely inappropriate for a funeral.
I stood up slowly and adjusted my black lace veil while wiping a stray tear from my cheek.
That was when I saw it through the gap in his suit jacket as he partially withdrew his phone to check a notification.
The screen was bright against the gray afternoon and the name on the top of the message bubble was Tiffany.
The message read that she couldn't wait for him to get home so they could celebrate his newfound freedom from the old woman's drama.
The blood in my veins turned to ice and then it began to boil with a rage I had never experienced in my entire life.
My mother was not an old woman with drama she was a saint who had spent her last days asking if Mark was eating enough.
Mark didn't see me looking because he was too busy typing a reply with one hand while keeping the phone shielded by his hip.
He was smiling a tiny and cruel upturn of the lips that he thought no one would notice behind his dark sunglasses.
He was telling her that he would be there in an hour and that the funeral was finally almost over.
I felt a strange and terrifying clarity settle over me as the pallbearers prepared to lower the casket into the earth.
I didn't scream and I didn't cry out in agony because that would have given him the satisfaction of seeing me broken.
Instead I reached out with a lightning-fast movement and snatched the phone right out of his unsuspecting hand.
Mark gasped and his sunglasses slipped down his nose as he looked at me with wide and panicked eyes.
He tried to grab for it but I stepped back toward the edge of the pit where my mother’s casket was slowly descending.
I looked down at the screen one last time and saw the heart emojis he had sent to a woman who wasn't his wife.
I looked back at Mark and let out a cold and silent laugh that made the people standing near us whisper in confusion.
With a flick of my wrist I tossed the thousand-dollar device into the grave where it landed with a dull thud right on top of the mahogany lid.
Mark let out a strangled sound of protest and lunged forward as if he were actually going to jump into the dirt to retrieve it.
He stopped at the very edge and his face turned a mottled shade of purple as he realized everyone was watching him.
I leaned in close until my lips were brushing against his ear and I could smell the expensive cologne he had put on for his mistress.
I whispered that he should consider the phone a gift to the dead and that he belonged in hell right along with his secrets.
Mark stood frozen as the first shovelful of dirt hit the casket and buried his digital life under six feet of cold earth.
I turned my back on him and walked away through the rows of tombstones without looking back a single time.
I could hear him calling my name in a hushed and desperate tone but his voice was just noise in the wind.
I walked straight to the black sedan parked at the gates and told the driver to take me to the lawyer’s office downtown.
Mark didn't have his keys and he didn't have his wallet because he had left them in the car that I was currently riding in.
He was stranded in a cemetery in the rain with nothing but the clothes on his back and the ghost of the woman he disrespected.
By the time I reached the office my lawyer was already waiting with the papers I had asked him to prepare weeks ago just in case.
I signed every page with a steady hand and felt a weight lifting off my shoulders that had nothing to do with grief.
I spent the rest of the afternoon changing the locks on the house and packing Mark’s expensive shoes into heavy-duty trash bags.
I didn't care where he went or how he got there because as far as I was concerned he had died today too.
