The church was packed like sardines, raising a stink at the funeral mass. The cops found Vincent in a pool of blood, next to a dresser with two teacups, one with crimson lipstick, in a motel.
“Lydia, I’m sorry you had to devote your life to a cheat. He deserved his fate.”
I sat in the front row veiled, all-black sucking up to the glib condolences. I walked to the coffin and watched the body, one last time with a sinking feeling, as I placed the bouquet on the stomach. The way to a man’s heart, I smiled.
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