![Diary Of A Young Widow[Insert 7]They can call me evil and dramatic, but I no longer care. I’m done worrying about people...](https://img5.medioq.com/959/330/731913389593300.jpg)
29/07/2025
Diary Of A Young Widow
[Insert 7]
They can call me evil and dramatic, but I no longer care. I’m done worrying about people who don’t care about me or my children—people who only love my money and not me. So, I closed my gates and went back inside to mourn the death of my lovely husband in peace. While I was inside, I heard them screaming my name and calling me all sorts of names. They even said they would see if I could bury someone I didn’t give birth to. My in-laws were still in the house, while the relatives were chased away by the dogs.
I was terrified and emotional. I went to my bedroom and cried out loud, wishing my husband would wake up so that the drama could end. While I was sobbing, my mother-in-law came to me and said hurtful things. She told me that I could cry as much as I wanted, but once I was done, I should explain why I had killed her son. She accused me of wanting to claim his life insurance money.
I continued to cry until she crossed a line. She mentioned that I had succeeded in killing my parents, and she warned me about what would come my way regarding her child. I stood up and walked straight to her, slapping her across her face. “Don’t you dare talk about my parents! You don’t know what happened to them, yet you’re here spouting nonsense. I have tolerated your hurtful words long enough, but now you’ve pressed the wrong button!” I said, making my way to the bedroom door. I opened it and ordered them to leave my house. They didn’t even bother to listen; they acted as if they were deaf. So I went to each of them one by one and forcefully removed them, locking all the doors behind me.
I was so heartbroken that I didn’t care about what would happen tomorrow. I felt indifferent toward them because they never accepted me as their daughter-in-law. I even told them that I didn’t want to see them at my husband’s funeral. I didn’t mean it; I just said it out of anger and pain. They all got into their cars and drove back home. Watching those cars leave one by one gave me a sense of relief.
I mourned my husband with only friends until my uncles, aunts, and cousins from my mother’s side came to support me. At least I wasn’t alone, even though my heart was broken with no one from my husband’s side there.
While I was preparing for the funeral, I accidentally opened my phone and went to WhatsApp. I saw a picture of my husband along with funeral arrangements that were to take place in Limpopo. His younger sister was informing people that my husband would be buried in Limpopo, his home. I didn’t want to engage with her and continued with my preparations.
My aunts set up a mattress for me where I sat and performed the traditional rituals for a widow. I was grateful for having such a caring and loving family. I wished they had been the ones raising me, not that woman with a heart as cold as a snake’s.
On Wednesday, I went to the funeral parlor with my uncles and aunt to choose a casket for my husband. When we arrived, I was told it was not possible to select a casket for someone who was no longer there. It felt like I had a mini-heart attack.
“What do you mean we can’t choose a casket for someone who is not here? Where is my husband?” I asked the receptionist, struggling to breath and stand still. I then balanced myself with my uncle as I felt like I was about to faint.
“Your husband was taken by his parents. We had no choice but to release him body since they were threatening us,” she explained. It sounded like she was shouting at me; nothing she said made sense. Why hadn’t they contacted me to inform me that my husband’s body had been taken?
I went straight to the car and drove to Limpopo with my uncle, leaving my other uncle and aunt at the parlor. I had to hold it together, putting aside my own feelings while fighting for my husband. We first went to the nearest police station to explain our situation, but they were unhelpful, saying it was a family matter we needed to resolve ourselves. I was disappointed and felt let down by them, but I never gave up on my man.
Upon arriving at his home, we found a lot of people in the yard preparing for a funeral that wasn’t supposed to be held there. I went straight to his old bedroom and found his mother and father inside. The nerve of that woman, she was setting on the mattress mourning for my husband as if she was her wife.
“Where is my husband?” I asked, looking directly at her, my eyes filled with hurt and tears. She stood up and slapped me several times. Her actions were futile because I felt nothing; all I cared about was my husband, who was somewhere cold that I didn’t know. I demanded to know where his body was.
While we were shouting and arguing, my aunt; who raised me came into the room, trying to intervene. Imagine, she went to my husband’s home, not mine. I knew she hated me with every fiber of her being but i never though she will choose people she didn’t know over her brother's only child. I didn’t say much to her; I just asked who she was and continued to demand answers. I acted as if I don't know her and she doesn't matter.
They remained silent, leaving me desperate for information.
To be continued......
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