When my son-in-law walked into my pregnant daughter’s funeral with his mistress on his arm, I nearly dragged her out myself. I thought that was the worst moment of the day — until her lawyer said Grace had left a “farewell gift” for him. When he revealed what it was, the entire church went silent.
Grace always loved lilies. She kept a little vase of them on her kitchen windowsill every spring without fail.
And now here they were, surrounding her casket, and all I could think was that I would never be able to look at a lily again.
My daughter was gone. The baby she’d been carrying in her belly was gone, too.
The police had called it a tragic accident, and I kept turning those words over and over in my mind.
It wasn’t enough to explain why my Gracie was gone.
I would never be able to look at a lily again.
Somewhere behind me, a woman sniffled. The organ music drifted through the air low and slow.
My husband, Frank, sat beside me, and I knew he was doing the same thing I was — holding himself together by willpower alone.
Then the church doors opened behind us. I didn’t think much of it until I heard the gasps and whispers.
I turned, and there was Bill, my son-in-law.
He wasn’t alone.
I heard the gasps and whispers.
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