I felt everything.
The funeral was a blur. Hugs. Casseroles.
“She was so proud of you” on repeat.
After everyone left, the house felt hollow.
Her cardigan drooped on the chair. Her slippers sat by the bed. Her smell lingered faintly in the hallway.
I wandered from room to room, waiting for her to yell at me for tracking in mud.
No one yelled.
Three days later, the mailman showed up with a certified letter.
“Sorry for your loss,” he said, handing me the little electronic pad to sign.
The envelope had my name on it.
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