At my father’s funeral, the gravedigger quietly drew me aside, glanced around to be sure no one was listening, and said, “Ma’am, your father paid me to bury an empty coffin.” I thought it was some kind of cruel joke until he slipped an old brass key into my palm and whispered, “Don’t let your husband know. Go to room 20 right now.” By the time I reached the door and stepped inside, I understood why he had waited until the funeral to tell me.

Right after my father’s funeral, the gravedigger took me aside and murmured, “The coffin is empty. Your father paid me years ago to bury an empty one. I thought the…