My parents skipped the funeral of my husband and two children because it was my sister’s birthday. When I begged them to come, my father calmly said,

camera, I saw my mother beside him, wrapped in an expensive cream coat, her mouth pressed into a hard line. Melissa was there too, wearing sunglasses despite the gray sky.

“Claire,” my mother called, softer but not kinder. “We saw the news. We need to talk as a family.”

Family.

The word almost made me laugh.

My phone buzzed again. Aunt Ruth.

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