My sister was laid to rest in white, but her husband came in looking like a man attending a celebration. He stepped into the chapel with his mistress holding his arm, and it felt as if every candle in the room leaned away from him.
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I stood beside Maya’s coffin, my fingers curled around the pale pink ribbon tied to the tiny casket beside hers. The baby she had carried for eight months rested there too, quiet beneath flowers no child should ever need. Funeral& Bereavement
The mourners turned as the chapel doors opened.
Daniel Voss walked in wearing a black designer suit, his expression polished into practiced sorrow. At his side was Celeste, blonde, immaculate, and shameless, her diamond bracelet catching the stained-glass light. She clung to his arm as if she had every right to be there.
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My mother made a sound like something inside her had cracked. Newparent guide
Daniel lowered his gaze for exactly three seconds, then lifted his eyes to me.
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“Lena,” he said softly, as if we had ever been friends, as if my sister had not called me crying three weeks before she died. “I’m glad you’re here.”
I stared at him until his smile began to tighten.
“You brought her?” I asked.
Celeste lifted her chin. “Daniel shouldn’t have to suffer alone.”
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