“I tried making one last week,” I confessed, my voice breaking. “It didn’t taste right. I almost called her to ask what I’d done wrong — and then… the heart attack… the ambulance…”
“Oh, honey.” Mrs. Anderson hugged me tightly. “She knew how deeply you loved her. That’s what matters. Just look around — she meant so much to so many.”
The funeral home was crowded with friends and neighbors murmuring memories. I spotted my mother, Victoria, standing apart, checking her phone. She hadn’t cried once.
While Mrs. Anderson and I were talking, I saw my mother approach the casket. She glanced around cautiously before leaning in and slipping something inside — a small package.
When she stood upright, her eyes scanned the room before she walked away, her heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor.
“Did you see that?” I whispered, my pulse quickening.
