Friends filled the pews.
Teachers from Chloe’s preschool came.
Nurses from the hospital stood together in the back.
Julian came too.
I recognized him only because he approached me afterward.
He looked younger than twenty-eight.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
I nodded.
“Thank you for the email.”
His face tightened.
“There’s more.”
“Not today.”
“Of course.”
He turned to leave.
“Julian?”
He stopped.
“Preserve everything.”
“I will.”
The empty chair beside me belonged to Arthur.
I had asked the funeral director to leave it there.
People noticed.
Margaret did not attend.
She sent no flowers.
No message.
Nothing.
At the graveside, the September wind moved through the trees.
I watched workers lower Chloe into the earth.
There are images the mind protects you from.
And there are images it brands into you forever.
My daughter’s coffin descending was one of them.
After everyone left, I remained beside the grave.
