At my twins’ funeral, my mother-in-law spoke words so cruel the room went completely still.

The words ripped out of me before I could stop them—raw, feral, desperate.

The silence that followed was absolute, like the vacuum of space. Diane’s face twisted beneath her veil. The grieving-grandmother mask slid away, revealing something predatory. She came down from the podium with shocking speed for a woman supposedly weakened by sorrow.

Before I could react, her hand struck my face. Crack. The sound echoed against the vaulted ceiling.

I barely felt the pain before she seized my hair, her fingers twisting viciously at my scalp. She yanked my head downward, forcing me toward the nearest coffin—Oliver’s.

“You ungrateful wretch!” she snarled, slamming my forehead against the smooth wood of my son’s casket.

The dull thud sent Emma into a scream—sharp, piercing, full of terror.

Diane bent close, her breath hot against my ear, smelling of peppermint and decay. “You better shut up if you don’t want to end up in there with them.“

I fought, but her grip didn’t loosen. I looked at Trevor. Help me. Please.

Trevor moved. He grabbed my arm, his fingers biting painfully into my bicep, and yanked me backward—not to protect me from her, but to pull me away from her.

“Get lost this instant!” he yelled, his fury aimed entirely at me. “How dare you disrespect my mother at my sons’ funeral? Get out!”

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