“I don’t feel much of anything these days, to tell you the truth. I just want to get this service over with, get this week over with. Come on, Mom.” Betsy escorts me to the front row of chairs. David is seated on the aisle and he’s reading something on his phone. I take the empty seat next to him. Betsy’s place is next to me, but instead of sitting down, she waves at David’s parents and literally goes behind my back to greet them. I’m sure they’re hugging. I don’t turn around. We aren’t close, but for this, for David’s showy memorial for his daughter, we will all go along with the act. I bring my hands to my face, breathe in, breathe out. I focus on the deep sand covering my right shoe, the pink radiance of the setting sun glowing on my silk dress.

And then my mind clears. I drop my hands from my face and turn to look at the man seated to my left.

The bright light of a text catches my attention and I see CLOSED ESCROW!!! before he quickly flips his phone over, trying to hide the screen from me.

Has he told someone else about our secret house? Confused, I grab my phone, open my app and see the full extent of his betrayal. The full measure of what he has done. He’s texting with Kylie, just before the ceremony for his dead daughter.

Kylie: Is it ours yet?

I swallow. Glance to my left. He isn’t watching me, of course.

David: Yes!!

Kylie: CLOSED ESCROW!!!

My neck tenses and I fight the urge to punch my husband in the face.

Beside me, David types on his phone, and I read it on mine. A new beginning just the two of us. Love you.

Kylie:

I stare at my husband as my heart thuds in my chest. How could he? I cannot believe the audacity of this man. This is the final straw. This changes everything, reconciliation to ruin in the blink of text.

I’m finding it hard to breathe. My hands shake as I grab the edges of the seat. Betsy slips into place next to me and she pats my leg. I know I’m being watched by all of the crowd. Normally I like the attention. But tonight, just now, I fight the urge to run. I lean forward in my seat, about to stand up, to get out of here, when David grips my wrist.

“Calm down, Jane,” he says in a firm whisper. “The program is starting.”

I look up and see the pastor step to the podium. He nods in our general direction and begins. “Welcome, friends and family. We are here to celebrate the life of Mary Anderson Harris. A beautiful young woman. A...”