Her Sister Mocked Her at Dad’s Funeral. Then the Will Named Mira

The first thing I remember about my father’s funeral is the scent of lilies.

Not incense. Not rain. Lilies.

White lilies were arranged around his coffin in dense, costly clusters that made the chapel smell less like grief and more like a florist’s cold storage room.

Every breath carried wax, damp wool, aged wood, and the faint sweetness of flowers already continue reading …