It was said gently. Casually. As if he were doing me a favor.
I turned my head slightly and looked at him. His face showed impatience, not sorrow. To him, this was an inconvenience. A pause in his schedule.
I didn’t flinch.
I smiled.
At the time, he thought it was weakness. Acceptance. Habit.
He had no idea how wrong he was.
The service passed in a blur. Carefully chosen words. White flowers. Polite condolences. I stayed silent, my hands folded, my spine straight.
Something inside me felt different.
Not broken.
Awake.
Today, I did none of that.
When the service ended, we followed the coffin outside.
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