Grace always loved lilies. She kept a little vase of them on her kitchen windowsill every spring without fail.
And now here they were, surrounding her casket, and all I could think was that I would never be able to look at a lily again.
My daughter was gone. The baby she’d been carrying in her belly was gone, too.
The police had called it a tragic accident, and I kept turning those words over and over in my mind.