The chapel felt colder than it should have. November had arrived with its usual sharp teeth, but the chill I felt that morning had nothing to do with the weather. I stood in the doorway watching the funeral director arrange white lilies around George\u2019s mahogany casket, their perfume too sweet, too insistent, as if trying to mask something death itself couldn\u2019t hide.\u201cMrs. Holloway?\u201d His voice was gentle, practiced. \u201cWe can wait a few more minutes if you\u2019d like. Sometimes people run a bit late.\u201dI glanced at the rows of empty chairs stretching behind me like an accusation. Twenty-four seats, polished oak, cushioned in deep burgundy. Not a single body filled them. Not our son Peter. Not our daughter Celia. Not one grandchild. Just me in my black dress that George always said made my eyes look like storm clouds, standing alone while the wind rattled the stained-glass windows.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The chapel felt colder than it should have. November had arrived with its usual sharp teeth, but the chill I felt that morning had nothing to do… <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":83730,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-83729","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-news"],"yoast_head":"\n