For days, Mark barely spoke to me. The silence between us was heavier than anything I had ever experienced.
I was certain our marriage was over.
At the funeral, after the final prayers were said and people began to drift away, Mark approached me.
His face was pale and unreadable.
In his hand was a folded piece of paper.
“She wrote this weeks ago,” he said quietly, holding it out to me.
My fingers trembled as I opened it.
The handwriting was shaky but unmistakably Emily’s.
