They buried my son in the morning, and by afternoon they tried to bury me with him. Grief hadn’t even learned the shape of his name in my throat when Melissa’s voice turned my life into a technicality: the house is mine, you go. I walked out of Nathan’s kitchen with funeral lilies rotting on the counter, two badly packed suitcases cutting red lines into my palms, and his last, unspoken promise waiting for me under a rotting cabin flo… Continues…
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