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

old part of Queens. It wasn’t elegant. It had peeling wallpaper, a lobby that smelled of bleach and burnt coffee, and an elevator that groaned under its own weight.

A woman in a dark suit was waiting for us in the hallway.

“Mrs. Theresa.” “Irene?” “Irene Sterling, attorney at law. Please, come with me.”

We took the stairs to the third floor. Every step continue reading …