
On the day of my father’s funeral. At the funeral home, I bumped into my husband, Chad Bird, who had been on a business trip for two weeks. He circled his arms on a woman in a black dress and whispered comfort. The woman held the urn and leaned sadly in the arms of my husband. She had exquisite makeup on her face. If I was not mistaken. This woman is my husband’s first love. The urn she was holding probably belonged to her short-lived fiancé.
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