The church felt too quiet without Harold. After sixty-two years of marriage, the silence beside me felt unnatural, like something in the world had been shifted out of place. We had met when I was eighteen, married before the year was over, and from that moment on our lives had been braided together so tightly that I could barely remember who I was before him. My name is Rosa, and that day I stood in the church trying to breathe through a grief that felt almost physical. Our sons stood close on either side of me as people filed past,...
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