Chapter 47

Marie’s POV

2016

The funeral home smelled like lilies and carpet cleaner. I would never be able to smell either of those things again without thinking of that morning.

Mom couldn't get her coat buttoned. I remember standing in the hallway watching her hands shake too hard to manage it, and finally just doing it myself, small plastic buttons under my own trembling fingers, neither of us saying a word about it. She hadn't really slept since it happened, four days now. She looked like a woman who'd been hollowed out and was still walking around anyway out of pure habit.

I remember the drive to the funeral home too, the two of us in total silence, radio off, and how the whole town looked wrong that day — too bright, too ordinary, people out mowing lawns and walking dogs like it was any other Tuesday, while inside our car the whole world had already ended.

The service itself is mostly a blur. I remember the casket being closed, a