Chapter 1: The Press Release of Grief
At my husband’s funeral, my three children stood in front of the gathered guests and delivered their little speeches like they were reading a corporate press release.
The scent of white lilies was thick in the chapel in Scottsdale, Arizona, so cloying it coated the back of my throat. I sat in the front row, clutching my gold wedding ring so tightly it left a deep, white dent in my flesh. The metal felt warm, the only piece of my husband, Richard, I was still allowed to touch. My name is Marianne Caldwell, fifty-six years old. I had been married to the man in the polished mahogany casket for thirty-one years.
