Everyone was wondering what happened to Carrie Underwood’s husband

Carrie Underwood, together with her husband Mike Fisher, are a common couple on the red carpet. They have walked together at some of the world’s most prestigious award ceremonies, including the Grammys, CMA Awards, and American Music Awards.

Usually, we can’t get over how cute this retired hockey player’s spouse is with her country music star husband.

The CMT Music Awards is one event where Fisher is always sure to be seen warmly supporting his wife. Seasons in which the former standout player for the Nashville Predators appeared with Underwood were 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2018, and 2019.

Award shows experienced a slight alteration in operations after the epidemic, but Fisher reunited with his amazing wife in 2022.

But when the 2023 CMT Awards were held in Austin, Texas on April 2, Fisher was nowhere to be found. So what’s the deal?

Don’t think that Mike Fisher and Carrie Underwood are at odds with each other in paradise. He declined to go in person to support his wife, who was up for both Female Video of the Year and Video of the Year at the 2023 CMT Awards.

When asked where her husband was, the “Hate My Heart” singer said, “On the red carpet, he was really on dad duty for the evening.”

“My partner is in charge of the kids. He usually keeps things running while I work on tasks like these. She called out to her three boys, and even at home, she appeared to be keeping an eye on them. Oh no!

Notably, compared to prior years, the former hockey great most likely did not have as much access to the 2023 award presentation. The CMTs have recently taken place in Nashville, the birthplace of country music.

This incident took place near Franklin, Underwood, and Fisher’s suburban Nashville home. However, in November 2022, the award presentation was scheduled to relocate to Texas.

Underwood looked amazing in a rhinestone two-piece that would have placed her on any Best Dressed list, yet it appeared as though she was making the most of her time in Texas, away from her sons.

Carrie Underwood and Mike Fisher, who are well-known, try to keep their two children, Jacob and Isaiah, out of the spotlight. In order to avoid disturbing their routine, Fisher and the singer of “Jesus Take the Wheel” decided not to bring the kids on tour with them last year.

Underwood stated, “They are not coming with me this time,” to ET Canada. “My oldest child’s education is our top priority, and she is enrolled in school. We want their lives to be as normal as possible.

Fisher is a hands-on parent, Underwood continued, which frees her up to concentrate on her work. I also think of myself as fortunate. She muttered, “I have to brag a little about my hubby. “He understands it. When I’m not here, he keeps it under lock and key. I never have to worry about lunches that aren’t packed or unclean laundry.

That makes sense, too, given Fisher’s desire to become a parent. Before Isaiah was born in 2015, he told The Tennessean how excited he was to become a father.

Regarding having children, he remarked, “Many say it’s impossible to explain until it happens, and then it’s the greatest thing ever.” “I’m just thinking about how I can be the best father I can be.”

It wasn’t always like this, even if Mike Fisher and Carrie Underwood appear to be the ideal pair right now. Underwood initially doubted Fisher’s ability to be a good mother, but Fisher has always desired to be a caring mother.

The country music icon stated, “I’ve never been fantastic with other people’s children. Why would I be terrific with one of my own?” in the documentary “Mike and Carrie: God & Country.” She added that at first, having a family wasn’t even at the top of her list of priorities.

“I don’t think I ever thought about getting married and starting a family,” the woman stated. “I can play well alone.” Fisher, on the other hand, was the total opposite.

I was reared with my three other siblings. My parents were also great. And I believe that’s all I was hoping for,” he remarked. “I wanted to be the best father I could be, to be like my father, and to have a wife like my mother.” and have children while living in the country.

All in all, though, everything worked out well because Underwood and Fisher, along with their two children, now live in the nation. After Isaiah was born, Underwood’s entire perspective on fatherhood had dramatically altered. It has changed the kind of person I am. Now I feel better. I’m in a better mood most of the time,” she stated in a Redbook Mag interview. “I’m totally smitten!”

I Saw My Neighbor Faint While Digging in Her Yard — I Gasped as I Looked into the Hole She Dug

When my 67-year-old neighbor, Mrs. Cartwright, collapsed while frantically digging in her yard, I rushed to help. I wasn’t prepared to uncover a buried wooden box that changed everything.

The sun bathed my quiet street in golden light as I folded laundry by the window. Across the way, Mrs. Cartwright, my elderly neighbor, was in her yard.

A woman folding laundry | Source: Freepik

A woman folding laundry | Source: Freepik

She was a petite woman, always wearing neat cardigans and a kind smile. Even at sixty-seven, she had a certain energy, though I knew her health was touchy.

Today, she wasn’t her usual composed self. She was digging. Hard. Her frail arms jabbed a spade into the dirt, sweat staining her blouse. It didn’t look right.

I opened my window and called, “Mrs. Cartwright! Are you okay?”

A concerned woman looking out of the window | Source: Freepik

A concerned woman looking out of the window | Source: Freepik

She didn’t look up, just kept at it like she didn’t hear me.

“Do you need help?” I tried again, louder.

Still no answer.

I watched her, uneasy. Maybe she was fine? I started to pull the window shut when she suddenly stopped, dropped the spade, and threw up her hands.

An elderly woman and a newly dug hole | Source: Midjourney

An elderly woman and a newly dug hole | Source: Midjourney

“Finally!” she cried out. Then, like a puppet with its strings cut, she crumpled to the ground.

“Mrs. Cartwright!” My voice cracked. I bolted out the door, sprinting to her yard.

Her thin body lay sprawled by the hole, one hand resting on the edge. I shook her shoulder gently.

She didn’t move.

An unconscious woman lying on the grass | Source: Midjourney

An unconscious woman lying on the grass | Source: Midjourney

My heart pounded as I checked her pulse. It was faint but there. Thank God. I leaned in closer, listening for her breath. Slow and shallow, but steady. Relief washed over me.

“Okay, hang on,” I murmured, unsure if she could hear.

While adjusting her head for better airflow, something caught my eye. In the hole she’d been digging, something wooden peeked through the dirt. A box?

A small wooden box | Source: Pexels

A small wooden box | Source: Pexels

I hesitated. Helping her was the priority. But the box glinted faintly, pulling my focus like a magnet.

“What were you looking for?” I whispered, glancing between her and the hole. My curiosity got the better of me. I reached into the dirt and tugged at the box. It came loose with surprising ease.

The wood was weathered but intact, and the lid creaked as I lifted it. Inside were bundles of letters tied with faded twine. Next to them lay yellowed photographs and a sealed envelope.

A wooden box with letters | Source: Midjourney

A wooden box with letters | Source: Midjourney

“What…?” My voice trailed off as I pulled out one of the photographs. It showed a young Mrs. Cartwright, smiling beside a man in uniform. Her husband?

I stared, stunned. The letters looked so old, yet they were preserved remarkably well. What kind of story was hidden here?

As I pieced through the contents, a faint groan startled me.

A woman looking through the contents of the box | Source: Midjourney

A woman looking through the contents of the box | Source: Midjourney

“Mrs. Cartwright?” I asked, dropping the photograph. Her eyelids fluttered.

“Mm… where…?” Her voice was raspy.

“You collapsed,” I said softly, kneeling closer. “Just stay still. I’ll call for help.”

“No!” Her hand shot up, gripping my arm with surprising strength. “The box. Is it—” She coughed, struggling to sit up.

An unconscious woman in her backyard | Source: Midjourney

An unconscious woman in her backyard | Source: Midjourney

“It’s here,” I said, pointing. “But you need to rest. Please.”

She ignored me, eyes wide as she reached for the box. “Let me see.”

Reluctantly, I passed it to her. She cradled it like something precious, her frail fingers brushing over the wood.

“Sixty years,” she whispered, tears slipping down her wrinkled cheeks.

An elderly woman holding a wooden box | Source: Midjourney

An elderly woman holding a wooden box | Source: Midjourney

“Sixty years?” I asked, confused.

“My husband,” she began, her voice trembling. “He buried this before he went to war. Said it was… a way to keep his dreams safe. He told me to find it… if he didn’t come back.”

I blinked, unable to speak.

“He didn’t come back,” she continued. “And I looked, oh, how I looked. But I couldn’t find it. I thought it was gone forever.”

A woman holding a letter | Source: Midjourney

A woman holding a letter | Source: Midjourney

Her voice cracked. I stayed quiet, letting her speak.

“But I started dreaming about him again,” she said, her gaze far away. “He told me—’Under the tree, my dove.’ That’s what he called me.” She laughed softly, though tears kept falling. “I didn’t believe it at first. Just a dream, I thought. But something… something told me to dig.”

“And you found it,” I said gently.

Two women talking with letters in their hands | Source: Midjourney

Two women talking with letters in their hands | Source: Midjourney

“Because of you,” she replied, meeting my eyes. “I couldn’t have done it alone.”

I didn’t know what to say. There was so much emotion, so much weight in her words.

“What’s in the letters?” I finally asked.

“Everything,” she whispered, her hands trembling. “Everything he wanted to say but couldn’t.”

An elderly woman reading a letter | Source: Midjourney

An elderly woman reading a letter | Source: Midjourney

She reached for the envelope, her fingers brushing over its seal.

“Help me open it,” she said, looking at me with eyes full of unspoken gratitude.

She pulled out a letter, carefully unfolding the fragile paper. The sunlight streaming through the trees illuminated the delicate handwriting.

“Can I read it?” I asked gently.

A woman holding a letter | Source: Pexels

A woman holding a letter | Source: Pexels

She nodded, handing it to me.

I cleared my throat and began:

“Dear Family,

If you are reading this, it means my dove has found what I left behind. First, know that I loved you all, even those I never had the chance to meet. This world moves fast, and we forget what matters most. But love—love always stays. Take care of one another. Forgive, even when it’s hard. And don’t let time or distance make you strangers.

A man writing a letter | Source: Pexels

A man writing a letter | Source: Pexels

Inside this envelope, I’ve left a locket. Ruthie knows its meaning. Pass it down as a reminder: no matter what life brings, hold on to each other. Love is what lasts.

With all my heart,

Your father and, I hope, grandfather”

A handwritten letter and flowers | Source: Pexels

A handwritten letter and flowers | Source: Pexels

I lowered the letter and looked at Mrs. Cartwright. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she reached for the envelope.

Her fingers found a small, intricate locket inside. She opened it, revealing a miniature photo of herself and her husband, smiling as if frozen in a perfect moment. The locket seemed to glow in the sunlight.

A heart-shaped locket | Source: Pexels

A heart-shaped locket | Source: Pexels

“He always said this would outlast us both,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “And now, here it is.”

“It’s beautiful,” I said.

She turned the locket over in her hands, her face thoughtful. “You should have this.”

My head jerked up. “What? No, Mrs. Cartwright, that’s… this is for your family.”

Two women talking in the garden | Source: Freepik

Two women talking in the garden | Source: Freepik

“You’re part of this story now,” she insisted, her voice steady despite the emotion behind it. “Robert believed in timing. He believed things came to people when they were meant to. I think he’d want you to have it.”

I hesitated, but the sincerity in her eyes was undeniable. Slowly, I reached out and took the locket, its warmth almost surprising in my palm. “I’ll take care of it,” I promised.

Holding a heart-shaped locket | Source: Pexels

Holding a heart-shaped locket | Source: Pexels

She smiled softly. “I know you will.”

In the days that followed, Mrs. Cartwright and I spent hours sorting through the letters. Each one painted a vivid picture of her husband’s love, courage, and hope during the war.

“He wrote about everything,” she told me one evening. “How he missed me, how he dreamed of coming home. But most of all, he wanted our family to stay close, no matter what.”

Two women drinking tea | Source: Freepik

Two women drinking tea | Source: Freepik

I could see the weight of those words on her face. “Have you thought about sharing these with your family?” I asked.

Her expression faltered. “We haven’t spoken much in years,” she admitted. “After Robert passed, we all drifted apart. There were arguments… regrets.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s too late,” I said gently. “This could be a way to bring them together again.”

A woman talking to her mother | Source: Pexels

A woman talking to her mother | Source: Pexels

She didn’t respond right away, but the idea seemed to take root.

Two weeks later, Mrs. Cartwright invited her family to a gathering. With her health, she needed help organizing it, and I was more than happy to pitch in.

On the day of the reunion, her living room was transformed into a warm, welcoming space. The letters were arranged on a table, along with the photographs and the locket.

An elderly woman welcoming her family | Source: Pexels

An elderly woman welcoming her family | Source: Pexels

As her children and grandchildren arrived, there were hesitant smiles and awkward greetings. But once everyone settled in, Mrs. Cartwright stood, her frail frame somehow filled with strength.

“These letters,” she began, her voice trembling but clear, “are from your grandfather. He wrote them during the war and buried them for us to find. They’re his way of reminding us what’s most important.”

An elderly woman laughing at a family gathering | Source: Pexels

An elderly woman laughing at a family gathering | Source: Pexels

Her oldest son picked up a letter and began to read. As his voice filled the room, emotions ran high. Some cried softly; others smiled through tears.

“I remember this story,” one granddaughter said, holding up a photograph. “Grandma told me about this day!”

Mrs. Cartwright beamed, watching as her family connected over the memories. The locket made its way around the room, each person marveling at the tiny photo inside.

A happy woman with her friends | Source: Freepik

A happy woman with her friends | Source: Freepik

“Grandpa wanted us to pass this down,” Mrs. Cartwright said as her youngest great-grandchild held the locket. “To remind us to stay close, no matter what.”

As the evening ended, the once-distant family members lingered, talking and laughing like old friends. Mrs. Cartwright’s eyes glistened with joy as she squeezed my hand.

“You did this,” she said softly.

An elderly woman talking to a young woman | Source: Freepik

An elderly woman talking to a young woman | Source: Freepik

“No,” I replied. “Robert did. And you.”

She smiled, but I could see how much the moment meant to her.

That night, as I walked home, I held the locket in my hand. Its weight felt different now, not heavy but significant—a symbol of love and the bond that had been rekindled.

A woman walking home at night | Source: Pexels

A woman walking home at night | Source: Pexels

What started as an ordinary day had become something extraordinary. I’d learned that even the smallest gestures like helping a neighbor or listening to a story could change lives.

And as I glanced back at Mrs. Cartwright’s house, glowing with light and laughter, I knew that her husband’s message would endure, carried forward by those who loved him.

A happy family | Source: Pexels

A happy family | Source: Pexels

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.

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