What lay inside was a sight none of us could have foreseen. My husband’s body was not lying in peaceful repose as expected. Instead, his face was contorted in a grimace of pain, and his hands were clenched into fists across his chest. The undertaker’s assurances of a peaceful passing now seemed like hollow words.

The realization struck like a bolt of lightning. This was no ordinary death. Something was amiss, and Astoria, with her instinctual bond to my husband, sensed it before any of us could. Her loyalty and love for him had driven her to uncover the truth, even in the throes of her own grief.