When I called to tell my son that my wife had pass…

few attendees offered their condolences, I kept checking my phone. Nothing from Marcus.

Not even a text. At the cemetery, I watched them lower Margaret into the ground. The sun was shining, which felt wrong somehow.

It should have been raining, gray, as empty as I felt inside. Mrs. Patterson squeezed my shoulder. She was a good woman, Steven.

She loved continue reading …