The notification came quietly, the way ordinary things do, and that was what made it unbearable. Eight days had passed since the funeral, eight days of learning how silence could have weight. When the charge appeared from the joint bank account—a car rental, of all things—it felt like a hand reaching out from a sealed room. Grief turned instantly into panic. I drove to the rental office on instinct alone, carrying her photo on my phone like proof against a mistake. I told myself there had to be an error, a delayed transaction, some boring explanation that would collapse under logic and let the world return to its rules. Continue reading…
