At fifty-five, after thirty-six years of marriage, I suddenly found myself alone. Greg had been mine since I was nineteen—the quiet constant behind every ordinary joy and shared routine. His death in a sudden road accident split my life into before and after. By the day of his farewell service, grief had emptied me out. The chapel glowed with flowers and soft music as I placed a single rose into his hands. That’s when I noticed a small folded note tucked beneath his fingers, strange and secretive. I slipped it into my purse, my heart already uneasy.
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