While Dressing My Late Husband for His Funeral, I Found Coordinates Hidden under His Hairline – They Led Me to a Storage Unit I Never Knew Existed

“Are you sure this is the unit?”

A second voice. “Yes. He said 317.”

“Okay. We need to take everything.”

A shadow filled the doorway.

“Oh.”

I looked up.

A woman in her mid-50s stood at the entrance. A woman in her 30s stood behind her.

A shadow filled the doorway.

“Excuse me,” the older woman said carefully. “We thought this was private.”

“It was,” I replied. “My name is Margaret.”

“Oh…” The older woman knotted her fingers together. “You’re… his wife.”

“Yes. And you’re his mistress, aren’t you?”

“Mistress?” The older woman asked sharply. “How can you call me that? You knew about us. Thomas told me you had an arrangement. He told me you’d been separated for years. That you stayed legally married for insurance and appearances. He said you both agreed divorce would hurt the boys.”

The older woman knotted her fingers together.

“And you believed him?” I almost laughed. “We didn’t have ‘an arrangement,’ and we weren’t separated. He told me that he worked late. He told me our finances were tight. Never once did he mention visiting and funding a second family.”

The older woman pinched the bridge of her nose. The younger woman moved closer and stared at me. She had Thomas’s eyes.