The air in the crematorium was thick, smelling of ozone and the suffocating perfume of lilies

to block me, but I was already leaning over Clara. Beneath the lace sleeve of her dress, I saw the thin mark of medical tape still stuck to her wrist.

An IV line had been there.

This was not a burial garment.

It was a disguise.

I took Clara’s hand. It was cool, but not lifeless. Under my thumb, faint and stubborn, a pulse answered mine… Continue Reading continue reading …