During Robert’s Funeral, My Sons Stood By The Casket With Dry Eyes And Perfect Black Suits…

too.

I laughed because he was alive. Because I was free. Because my sons had failed to bury him. Or lock me away. Or take everything.

The Greenwich estate was no longer ours. The forged will remained as state evidence. The empty vial, a police exhibit. The closed casket, a bitter memory of how close we came to losing everything.

But on our small, new continue reading …