The guest book was still sitting on my kitchen counter, right next to the cold mug of Sanka I had forgotten about three hours ago. I couldn’t bring myself to move it.

Earlier that morning, I buried Daniel. We had six years together. Good, quiet years, or at least that is what I had told myself.

I thought I knew every single thing about him, from his habit of humming when he washed the dishes to the way he always folded his socks.

But then she walked up to the casket.

I didn’t recognize her at all. She was a slender woman, maybe a few years younger than me, wearing a plain gray coat that looked a bit lived-in. She stood by the mahogany wood for a long time, just watching him. When she finally turned around, she saw me standing there.

She walked over, pressed a crumpled tissue to her eyes, and leaned in close.

“You knew he’d never really leave me,” she whispered.

I just stood there. My brain kind of stopped working for a second. I figured she was just a confused coworker from the plant, or maybe an old neighbor who was taking the grief a bit too hard. I didn’t say anything back because honestly, I didn’t know what to say.

But then, after the service was over and everyone had gone to the church basement for ham buns, I went to pick up the guest book.

I scrolled down the lines of names. Right there, near the bottom of the first page, was her signature. It was written in a beautiful, looping cursive.

“Forever yours, his wife. Clara.”

My hands went cold. I actually started flipping back through the other pages, my fingers shaking so bad I almost tore the paper.

I found her name three more times. She had signed the guest book at his mother’s funeral three years ago.

She had signed the register at our town library fundraiser. She had even signed the guest list for his retirement dinner.

I never even saw her there. Or maybe I did, and I just didn’t register her face because I was too busy being his wife.

I went home and sat in the quiet of our living room. Daniel’s slippers were still sitting right by his recliner. Bless his heart, he always left the left one slightly crooked. It was such a normal, comforting sight, but looking at them now made me feel sick to my stomach.

I decided to log into our home computer. I’m not great with technology, mind you, but I knew his passwords because he kept them written on a little yellow notepad inside his desk drawer.

I opened up the bank portal. We shared a checking account, but as I clicked around, I noticed a second savings account linked to his profile. It was an account I had never seen before in my life.

There was $84,000 gone from it.