A small white rectangle was tucked beneath his fingers. It was not a prayer card. It was the wrong size and thicker than it should have been.
For a moment, I thought my vision was blurring again from tears. But it was real. Someone had placed something inside my husband’s casket.
I glanced around. Guests stood in small clusters, whispering. No one was watching me closely. No one looked guilty.
He is my husband, I told myself. If there is something in there, it belongs to me.
My fingers shook as I slipped the folded paper free and positioned the rose in its place. I slid the note into my purse and walked down the hallway to the restroom, my pulse roaring in my ears.
I locked the door behind me and leaned against it. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead.
Slowly, I unfolded the paper.
The handwriting was neat and careful. Blue ink had been pressed deliberately into the page.
“Even though we could never be together the way we deserved, my kids and I will love you forever.”
I stared at the words.
At first, they felt like a foreign language. Then the meaning crashed into me all at once.
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