dying.
Because a part of me was terrified of what the truth would cost.
I stood there, biting back a scream.
Three days later, David went into the hospital and didn’t come home.
The funeral was a blur of black coats and casseroles.
Grace stood beside our children the whole time.
People asked me who she was.
I told them she was family.
I still didn’t know if that was true.
People asked me who she was.
The night after we buried him, I lay in our bed.
His side was cold for the first time in fifteen years.
I couldn’t stop staring at the ceiling, cataloging every unanswered question he had left behind like unpaid bills.
That was when the door creaked open.
Grace stood in the hallway light.
She was clutching something against her chest.
The door creaked open.
“I need to talk to you,” she said.
“Grace,