Greg lay beneath the lights, still and quiet, wearing the navy suit I bought him for our last anniversary. His hair had been combed the way he did before weddings. His face looked calm, almost peaceful, which somehow made everything worse. Greg was never still in life. He always had motion in him. Fixing something around the house. Tapping his fingers while thinking. Clearing his throat before speaking, like he was preparing to say something important even if it was only about the grocery list.
That stillness did not belong to him.
