The drive north was beautiful. The Georgia pines lined the highway like silent sentinels. I listened to classical music. I did not cry.

When I arrived in Oakhaven, I found the church easily. It was a lovely brick building with a white steeple.

There was a sign in the foyer: *In Loving Memory of Dorothy.*

Beside the sign sat a large wooden box with a slot in the top. It was surrounded by white roses. I noticed the roses immediately because they were the exact variety I grow in my own backyard. Gerald had cut them from my garden before he left.

I walked past the box. I could see envelopes sticking out of the slot. I slipped into the sanctuary. It was already nearly full. I took a seat in the very back pew, beneath the shadow of the balcony.

The organ began to play. It was a slow, mournful tune.

And then, Gerald walked in. He was wearing his best black suit. His head was bowed.

Beside him was Sarah. She was wearing a navy dress. She looked sweet, her eyes downcast.

But it was her hand that caught my attention. She was holding a lace handkerchief. And on her ring finger, catching the dim light of the sanctuary, was my mother’s heirloom sapphire ring.

My mother had given me that ring on my wedding day. Gerald had told me three months ago that he took it to the jeweler to have the prongs tightened. He said it was in the safety deposit box for safekeeping.

My knuckles turned white on the pew in front of me. The rage did not explode. It settled deep into my bones, cold and heavy as iron.

The lights in the sanctuary dimmed. A screen lowered from the ceiling. A slideshow began.

The first slide was a picture of me from our vacation in Savannah five years ago. I was laughing, holding a sun hat. Gerald had cropped himself out of the photo, leaving only my face against the blue sky.

The text beneath the picture read: *Dorothy. A Light Gone Too Soon.*

A soft murmur of sympathy rippled through the pews.

I stood up.

I did not slip out. I did not make a quiet exit. I walked out of the back pew and stepped into the center aisle.

My heels made a sharp, rhythmic clicking sound on the polished hardwood floor. In the quiet sanctuary, the sound was like a hammer hitting a nail.

A few people in the back rows turned to look. I smiled at them. I kept walking. I walked past row after row of strangers who had come to mourn me.

As I reached the middle of the sanctuary, the clicking of my heels became impossible to ignore. More heads turned.

Gerald was sitting in the front pew, his arm draped comfortingly around Sarah’s shoulders. He heard the footsteps. He turned his head, likely preparing to give a solemn, grieving nod to some late arrival.