Friends and family gathered around quiet tables, exchanging hushed condolences, their eyes red from tears. My four-year-old son, Ben, didn’t understand the gravity of death. To him, the reception hall was just another new place to explore.
While I was briefly speaking with relatives, he had crawled under the tables, giggling softly as only a child could — innocent and oblivious. When I found him moments later, his expression was strangely serious. He tugged on my dress and whispered, “Mommy, I saw Daddy touch another lady’s leg.”
“Another lady?” I asked quietly, kneeling down to meet his eyes. He nodded, pointing discreetly toward Rachel, my husband’s longtime family friend — someone I had always trusted without question.
