My ex-husband’s wife suddenly and unexpectedly died.

Most of you who know or follow me know that I went through a general hell for the entirety of my marriage, spanning from 1994 to 2018, when two years of separation mercifully ended in divorce. If you are new, you can read more here or watch here to gain a better understanding.

I thought I had been handling the situation quite well. After learning how to handle a narcissistic abuser and developing skills to change my behaviors, I moved across the country, and I am in a healthy relationship. I am progressing in both my master’s degree and my profession. But the death of my ex-husband’s wife sent me spiraling. Because healing is not linear, and neither is grief.

Old habits die hard, and I have old habits. Rescue habits. In particular, a *get him out of this mess* habit that kept me bound for decades to the man who actively worked to destroy me. And the first thing that I felt when I learned of my ex-husband’s wife’s death was that old urge to take care of him.

In the previous months, I had been walking myself in that direction as empathy (a good thing) borrowed its way into the rock-hard shell I had developed to protect myself. My ex-husband’s wife had been diagnosed with cancer, and I had been extending grace to him by allowing him to concentrate on paying medical bills for her care rather than his property settlement payments to me. We had even exchanged a few cordial emails, though I was still guarded.

Maybe I should have been more guarded. I don’t know. Perhaps I should have retained my rock-hard shell. But maintaining that gets exhausting. Being unmovable and hard is not in my nature.

And, of course, when someone passes away, we say kind words. We do nice things. So, I sent condolences to my ex, and I supported my kid, who had learned to care deeply for his stepmom, and I mourned with him from a distance for my safety.

This self-protective mourning with my kid is how I learned about how people describe their marriage. It was a marriage started after a years-long “we’re just friends having lunch” affair. It was a marriage that was preceded by a different mistress turning my husband away when he tried to move in with her and her children.

According to the obituary and their friends, my ex-husband “adored” his wife. He was “devoted” to her. It was written there in black and white for the world to see. The very same words everyone thought of our marriage. The words repeated by the accountant when I went for copies of tax documents for my attorney, “No! He is devoted to you and your family. I can’t believe that he left.” Or the statement of disbelief from his old mentor, “I don’t believe it! He adores you! He’ll come back.” As much as a year after my ex walked out, when he was already living with the fiancée who would become his wife, I was having to tell people that my “devoted” husband left me, and we were getting a divorce.

Last month, I took a break from the world when the memories became overwhelming. I needed time to settle my mind. How could I not wonder what really was? How could I not doubt my past and my memories, even though I had written them down so as not to forget? And how could I not be both deeply sad for her suffering and enraged at the whole scenario at the same time?

What was fake and what was real? My whole world with him was a farce. Was hers?

I don’t often refer to my ex-husband as a narcissist. I am not a psychologist and have no business diagnosing another human being. But everything in our relationship, from the very beginning, would indicate that he was. He is. And I know that I cannot change anything about that.

And so, I spent a couple of weeks mourning. Perhaps selfishly, I mourned again for myself. I mourned for my kids, who felt such rejection when he walked away. And yes, I mourned for his wife. Because if their relationship was anything like what I went through with him, the devotion observed by the rest of the world was performance art.

I mourned for the years of waste that ended a dream he had fed me. A dream of the land we would tend, on which stood the home we had painstakingly built. A dream of the grandchildren who would fill our table at holidays. The plot we set aside on our land for burial together. A dream that was always a lie. I know because he sat across our dining table and told me that he had never intended to follow through.

And that is when I realized that he now stands in my place. His experience is awful, but he wasn’t left as part of a plan. He wasn’t cruelly rejected and abandoned. My ex-husband’s wife didn’t choose to go.

Nevertheless, he is now alone in the house they built. A house that disturbingly resembles the one that he built with me. He, too, will never have answers. He, too, will never get a tender goodbye. He will never get to express what he wants to convey to her, good or bad. The new dream he built – real or fake – has been destroyed.

My ex-husband’s wife suddenly and unexpectedly died. And I still mourn.

Former evangelical homeschool mom and one-time missionary and pastor’s wife, Stephanie Logan, also known as Snicklefritz, draws on her life story and four decades of experience within the evangelical movement. Her views and stories are her own.

Copyright© 2025 snicklefritzchronicles.com