![\"\"](\"https:\/\/readmore.cx\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/BUTTONI-USA-2-e1742767963719-1536x885-1-300x173.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\n<\/div>\n
\u201cSee what, dear?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy mom just\u2026\u201d I hesitated, watching my mother disappear into the ladies\u2019 room. \u201cNothing. Just the grief playing tricks, I guess.\u201d<\/p>\n
But the unease settled in my stomach like a cold stone. Mom and Grandma had barely spoken in years. And there was no way my grandma would have asked for something to be put in her casket without my knowledge.<\/p>\n
Something felt off.<\/p>\n
Evening shadows lengthened across the funeral home\u2019s windows as the last mourners filtered out. The scent of lilies and roses hung heavy in the air, mixing with the lingering perfume of departed guests.<\/p>\n
My mother had left an hour ago, claiming a migraine, but her earlier behavior kept nagging at me like a splinter under my skin.<\/p>\n
\u201cMs. Emerald?\u201d The funeral director, Mr. Peters, appeared at my elbow. His kind face reminded me of my grandfather, who we\u2019d lost five years ago. \u201cTake all the time you need. I\u2019ll be in my office whenever you\u2019re ready.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you. Mr. Peters.\u201d<\/p>\n