Twelve years later, he died suddenly. Without warning. Just like our son.
I didn’t expect the pain to return with such force. I believed time had closed that chapter. But grief has a way of reopening wounds you think have healed.
A few days after his funeral, there was a knock at my door.
It was his second wife.
She looked worn down, older than I remembered, gripping a chipped teacup as if it were anchoring her. She skipped small talk and went straight to the point.
“There’s something you need to know,” she said.
She told me about a lake.
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