Not Getting An Overdose Of Sympathy

I am sitting in the break room with two of my coworkers. [Coworker #1] is scrolling through Facebook when she drops her phone and starts crying into her hands. 

Me: “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

I rub her back.

[Coworker #2] looks up from his own phone.

Coworker #2: “What happened?”

Coworker #1: “Jesus Christ…”

She turns her phone toward me. It’s a memorial for a man about our age. I recognize him, as he’s been in the store several times.

Me: “Oh, no.”

Coworker #2: “Who’s that?”

Coworker #1: “My ex-husband… He overdosed. I didn’t even know. I just talked to him two days ago.”

Me: “What do you need?”

Coworker #2: “Why are you sad about your dead ex-husband? Most people would rejoice.”

Me: “[Coworker #2]!”

Coworker #2: “I’m just saying, it didn’t work out, so why are you crying?”

Me: “Don’t say—”

[Coworker #1] turns and gives him a face full of rage and sadness.

Coworker #1: “I have to tell my children that their daddy will not be back to pick them up this weekend. And because his family thinks I’m a b**** for kicking him out, I found out on f****** *Facebook*!”

[Coworker #2] looks embarrassed for a moment but doubles down and glares at [Coworker #1]. 

Coworker #2: “Well, that’s what happens when you do drugs! F****** idiot!”

He got up and stormed out before either of us could say anything else. I now avoid [Coworker #2] unless I absolutely have to talk to him, as does [Coworker #1].