My Wife Told Me That Our 3 Year Old Son Was Buried, A Day Later I Found Out the Horrible Truth

So, we maintained a routine. Every evening without fail, Natalie would video call me so I could say goodnight to Oliver. This ritual became a highlight of my day—seeing his little face light up, hearing him say, “Night, Daddy,” before drifting off to sleep made everything feel just a bit less fractured.

Then came the phone call that changed everything.

“Greg!” Natalie’s voice came through the phone, but it wasn’t her usual calm tone. This time, she was crying. No, screaming. “Greg, our son’s gone!”

I froze. “What do you mean, gone?”

“Oliver is dead!” she yelled, her words piercing me like a knife.

I struggled to process it. “What? What are you talking about? How?”

Natalie’s sobs were so intense that I could barely decipher her words. “He’s—he’s just gone. Oh my God, Greg…”

I sank to the floor, crushed by her words. This couldn’t be happening. Not Oliver. Not my boy.

“I’ll be there. I’m coming right now,” I said, scrambling to my feet, my voice trembling.

“No,” she choked out. “Don’t. We’ve already had the ceremony. He… he’s been buried.”

“Buried?” I whispered, hardly able to breathe.

I hung up, devastated. My fingers twitched, longing to call Natalie back for answers. My heart raced, questions swirling chaotically in my mind. Before I could talk myself out of it, I hit the call button again.

The phone rang once. Twice. Then, finally—

“Greg,” Natalie answered, her voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“What the hell, Natalie?” I spat, my voice breaking. “Why didn’t you tell me anything? If something happened to Oliver—if he was sick or hurt—you should’ve called me!”

“I—I couldn’t,” she stammered, her breath shaky.

“You couldn’t?” I shot back, standing up and pacing the room. “I’m his father, Natalie! I should’ve been there. I should’ve known! What happened? Yesterday, he was fine!”

“It all happened so fast,” she sobbed, her words tumbling out in a disarray. “I didn’t know how to—”

“How to what, Natalie? How to tell me our son is dead?” My voice cracked, a wave of anger and sorrow crashing over me. “Do you even understand how that feels? To hear it like that?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I couldn’t… I didn’t want to do this over the phone.”

I tried to keep my voice steady. “Then when were you going to tell me?”

“I’m sorry,” she choked out again, as if that could somehow make it all better.

“Sorry’s not enough, Natalie. Not this time.” I bit my lip, struggling to hold back a scream building in my chest. “Why didn’t anyone else call me?”

Even if she was too consumed by grief to think clearly, why didn’t her parents reach out? Why didn’t Mike—her new husband—call? As much as I disliked him for stepping into my role in Oliver’s life, he should’ve contacted me.

The next day, while packing my bags, the phone rang. I glanced at the screen—Mike. My jaw tightened as I answered.

“Mike,” I said, zipping up my suitcase. “I’m on my way. I’ll be there by tonight.”

“Wait, Greg,” Mike’s voice was soft, almost hesitant. There was something unsettling in his tone that made me pause mid-step.

“What is it?” I braced myself for whatever he was about to say.

There was a moment of silence before he spoke, and when he did, his words shook me to my core.

“Natalie… she’s lost her mind, man. She made all of this up. Oliver’s alive.”

My heart slammed in my chest. “What?” I whispered, barely able to grasp the reality of what I was hearing.

“Natalie made it all up,” Mike repeated, his voice taut with disbelief. “Oliver’s fine. He’s with her parents right now.”

For a moment, I was speechless. My mind raced to process the surge of emotions: anger, confusion, relief. My son was alive. Alive! I had spent the entire night mourning him, imagining him gone forever, and now Mike was telling me it was all a lie.

“She… she lied?” I managed, my voice barely audible.

“Yes,” Mike sighed. “She’s been talking about not wanting you in her life anymore. I didn’t believe she’d go this far, but she let it slip. She thought if you believed Oliver was dead, you’d stay away for good.”

I stood frozen, a whirlwind of emotions tearing through me. How could she do this to me? To Oliver?

“Greg, I know this is a lot,” Mike continued, “but I couldn’t keep this from you. Natalie’s been… unraveling for a while. I called you as soon as I found out.”

I didn’t respond immediately, struggling to form coherent thoughts. My son was alive. But Natalie, the woman I had trusted to co-parent with me, had deceived me—something so monstrous that I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

Without another word, I finished packing and booked the next flight. I needed answers. I needed to see Oliver.

The flight felt like an eternity. By the time I landed, the anger that had been simmering beneath the surface had transformed into a rage I could barely contain.

When I finally arrived at Natalie’s house, she opened the door before I could knock. Her eyes were red, tears streaming down her face.

“Greg,” she said softly, her voice cracking. She stepped aside, letting me in.

I dropped my bags in the hallway, uninterested in formalities. “How could you do that to me?” I asked, my voice low yet trembling with fury.

She wiped her eyes, lips quivering. “I thought you’d take Oliver from me.”

“What?” I blinked, taken aback. “Why would I do that?”

Natalie hesitated, glancing down. “I’m… I’m pregnant with another child,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was scared. I thought if you found out, you’d take Oliver away from me. That you’d want him to live with you because I’d have another baby here.”

I stared at her in disbelief. “That’s what you thought? That I’d just take Oliver away from you?”

She nodded, sniffling. “I panicked, Greg. I didn’t know what else to do.”

My anger flared again, sharp and intense. “So you faked our son’s death? Natalie, you buried him in my mind. Do you even realize what you’ve done to me?”

She sobbed quietly, unable to meet my gaze.

I was shaking now, barely able to contain the storm inside me. “This isn’t about your new baby or your fears. This is about Oliver, and you almost took him away from me. Forever.”

Natalie cried, clearly shaken by the gravity of her actions.

“Natalie,” I said softly, aware that Mike had entered the room.

“This changes everything, but it doesn’t excuse what you did. You should’ve trusted me enough to be honest. I would never have separated Oliver from you. He needs both of us. But I am furious and heartbroken over the lie. I spent hours believing my son was dead.”

Natalie sat sobbing for what felt like an eternity, cradling her stomach.

Then, I heard little footsteps pattering down the hallway.

“Daddy!” Oliver shouted, jumping into my arms.

I refused to let him go.

I assured Natalie that I wasn’t there to take Oliver away, but I made it clear that if she ever pulled something like this again, I would be forced to take legal action.

On one hand, I understood the pain and uncertainty Natalie felt at the thought of losing her child. On the other hand, it made no sense. If she had given me the chance, I would’ve reassured her that I was happy Oliver would be a big brother.

I insisted that Natalie and I seek counseling to address the underlying issues from our divorce.

Mike has been a solid support for her, and I’m grateful that if anyone had to be a stepfather to my son, it’s the man who had the decency to call me with the truth.

Back home, the distance between Oliver and me felt unbearable. I couldn’t let that be our reality any longer. I opened my laptop and scrolled through job listings. There was no question about it.

I had to be closer to my son.

And soon.

“Next time, Natalie,” I muttered to myself, “I won’t

let you take him from me again.”