SHE WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO WAKE UP.”

inside the coffin.
And the people standing closest to the fire weren’t grieving.
They were waiting.
The crematorium smelled of incense, rain, and hidden secrets.
My mother-in-law, Helena Vale, pressed a black lace handkerchief against perfectly dry eyes. Beside her, Marcus—my brother-in-law—checked his watch impatiently, as though my wife’s funeral was continue reading …