At My Dad’s Funeral, My Stepmom Leaned In for a Final Kiss and Saw Him Blink

Veronica’s entire body went rigid.

The lily slipped from her hand and fell onto the floor with a soft rustle.

“No! This… this can’t be!” she shrieked.

The room erupted.

Gasps. Screams. Chairs scraped against the floor as people stood up, trying to see what was happening.

Veronica staggered back a step.

Her face went blotchy, like she couldn’t decide whether to flush or freeze.

But I wasn’t shocked. Because I was the one who told Dad to blink.

Let me rewind a bit. Six months ago, my dad, Richard, was doing just fine.

He was 57, ran five miles every morning, ate salads for lunch, and never had so much as a warning from his doctor.

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