The Funeral Begins
The morning was gray and heavy with drizzle.
I helped Dad to his seat. The chapel filled with family, neighbors, and old friends.
People whispered that I looked just like Mom when she was my age.
Then came the murmur—Stephanie and Nathan had arrived.
She wore a sleek black dress, diamonds glinting under the lights. Nathan looked uneasy in his perfect suit, his hand firm at her waist.
“Rebecca,” Stephanie said quietly when they reached us. “It’s been a long time.”
“Yes,” I replied evenly.
“Sorry for your loss,” Nathan added.
Zachary had stepped aside to speak with the funeral director.
“I need to talk to you privately,” Stephanie said, motioning toward a side room.
Against my better judgment, I followed—anything to prevent a scene.
Summary: Under the shadow of loss, old wounds stir once again.
