Not the Man You Think He Misses
For five days straight, a man had been coming to the same gr*ve.
Every evening, he would kneel there in silence…
then suddenly break down, clutching the h*adst*ne like his world had ended.
“Why did you have to d*e?” he cried.
“Why did you l*ave me like this…?”
Passersby began to notice.
Some slowed down, others whispered — all assuming the same thing:
a grieving son… or perhaps a devoted brother.
On the fifth day, one man finally approached him gently.
“I’m so sorry for your l*ss,” he said.
“Was he… your father?”
The man shook his head, still staring at the grave.
“Your brother, then?”
A long pause.
The man sighed deeply… then wiped his tears and replied:
“No…
he was my wife’s first husband.”
