I married my high school sweetheart at seventy-three to honor his final wish—but after his funeral, his lawyer came to my door and said, “You walked straight into his trap.”
He passed in the early morning, peaceful, with my hand in his. The grief hit me harder than I expected, considering we’d only had a handful of weeks. But sometimes a handful of weeks can hold almost six decades within them.
The funeral was small. I stood by the grave and let myself cry.
