When Mercy General called, I knew before the doctor even finished.
The car accident had taken him instantly.
The days that followed blurred into flowers, black clothing, and grief so heavy it felt like drowning.
At the funeral, Eleanor sat stiffly on the opposite pew, unreadable. After the service, she approached with a face that had never once softened for me.
“This is your fault,” she whispered, voice sharp. “If he hadn’t kept running to you, he’d still be alive.”
I didn’t answer. My heart was already hollow. There was no room left for her bitterness.
