“I think this is where you get off,” my son said, voice flat, eyes cold. The car tires kicked up dust as he sped away. Bag in hand, no money, no phone. Alone—or so he thought. I swallowed the lump in my throat and whispered to the empty road, “You really have no idea what I did before he died…”
The funeral had ended hours ago, but the emptiness in the house felt heavier than the weight of the casket. I watched neighbors and relatives file out, their murmurs fading into the distance. My husband, David, had been my anchor, my constant through thirty years of marriage. Now, he was gone. And with him, the…