“See what, dear?”
“My mom just…” I trailed off as I watched her disappear into the restroom. “Never mind. Maybe it’s just the grief.”
But a heavy unease settled inside me. Mom and Grandma had hardly spoken in years. And there was no reason my grandmother would have asked for something to be placed in her coffin without telling me.
Something wasn’t right.
As evening fell and the last mourners drifted out, the scent of lilies and roses hung thick in the air. My mother had left earlier, claiming a migraine, but her strange behavior gnawed at me.
“Ms. Emerald?” The funeral director, Mr. Peters, approached gently. His kind face reminded me of my grandfather, who we’d lost five years earlier. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be in my office.”
“Thank you, Mr. Peters.”
When his footsteps faded, I returned to the casket. The room felt heavier now, as though it held secrets suspended in silence.
