At my father’s funeral, I thought I was coming to say goodbye. Instead, a woman in a wedding dress appeared, carrying with her a love story that time itself had never erased.
By the morning of the service, I had no tears left to shed. I’d spent the past week crying in the shower, over coffee, and into my mother’s arms until my body felt hollow. Standing in the quiet church, surrounded by lilies and polished wood, I felt strangely detached like I was hovering outside of myself.
My name is Kate. Daniel was my father. And on the day we laid him to rest, something happened that none of us could have anticipated.
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