"He was barely in the morgue when an unfamiliar woman came around, claiming to be my husband’s wife and saying they had three children together. Everyone was dumbfounded. My husband traveled frequently for work, but fathering three children with another wife seemed impossible.

"It's a lie! My father would do no such thing," my daughter argued. I was grief-stricken and speechless; I had barely begun mourning my dearly beloved husband when all this mess unfolded.

"Who knows about you? Where’s the evidence that he was your husband?" my son interjected. The woman burst into tears, flanked by a ten-year-old girl and a boy around five years old. They were much younger than my children, which made me question: how could my husband have had these children when he'd been battling a long-term illness?

"Do you have any proof he was your husband?" our family head asked, scrutinizing the woman’s children from his seat.

"Yes, I brought our marriage certificate," she said, quickly digging into her bag and presenting it to him. "I'm not here for his money—far from it. I didn’t know he was married, but I always sensed something was off about our marriage and the way he avoided introducing me to his family. He always turned me down when I tried to ask about them."

"So why are you here?" my son asked again, his tone hard.

"I just heard about his passing and brought my children here, so we could know where our father came from. I felt it was important," she replied calmly.

"The family will deliberate on this matter," the family head said, excusing the woman. When she was out, we began discussing among ourselves, while I wept. Why did Opoku do this to me? I had been by his side until his last breath; why didn’t he say anything? How could he be so heartless?

“Let’s set aside some money for her, something she could use as capital to start a business so she won’t keep bothering us,” my husband’s sister suggested. But my son disagreed.

“Dad was bedridden for two years, and there was no sign of her. Where was she when we were struggling to take care of him? Where were all of you? Nobody should give her anything—she said herself that she wasn’t after money."

"The children don’t even look like Dad," my daughter added, which made me pause. What if the children weren’t even my husband’s? Would that make a difference to the betrayal I felt?

“Let’s do a DNA test,” I said suddenly, feeling more resolute. “Then, if we’re giving them anything, we’ll at least know they deserve it.”

This sparked chaos in the room, but everyone eventually agreed, so we called the woman back in.

“We’ve heard your story, and we’ve decided that before we give you anything or accept you as part of the family, we need to do a DNA test to clear any suspicions,” the family head stated.

She looked devastated. "There’s no need for that. We’ll leave you alone," she said, making me suspect her even more. But before anyone could say another word, some friends of mine entered to give their condolences. Sarah, one of my friends, stopped in her tracks, staring at the woman.

"You! We finally meet again," Sarah said, her eyes narrowing. The woman turned pale and hurried out before anyone could stop her. We were all curious, so we asked Sarah what was going on.

“She came to my brother-in-law’s funeral claiming she had children with him. We compensated her handsomely, only to find out she does this at many funerals. She finds out about a death, does some research on the family, and then shows up with random children, claiming money."

"Ah!" I gasped, and so did the others in the room. How despicable can people be? But I was relieved. That night, I kissed my husband’s picture before falling asleep, whispering, "I miss you every day. Thank you for not betraying me.”