I was wrong.
“Dad, my husband and my children are dead.”
“I understand.”
No, he didn’t.
“But today is your sister’s birthday. We can’t come.”
At the funeral, I stood between three caskets while Ethan’s parents held
me upright.
Margaret Miller cried so hard she could barely breathe.
My father-in-law, Robert, kept one hand on my shoulder.
My side of the church was nearly empty.
Only Aunt Ruth came.
She drove six hours after hearing about the crash from a neighbor.
Three days later, my mother texted:
Hope you’re managing. Melissa felt hurt that you didn’t call her on her
birthday.
I stared at the message until something inside me became final.
PART 2 — SIX MONTHS
I stopped answering my family.
There were not many calls to ignore.
They sent holiday photographs.
Engagement announcements.
Messages about cousins buying houses and Melissa choosing bridesmaid
colors.
Meanwhile, I learned the bureaucracy of death.
