Whispers turned to murmurs and then to questions. How could this have happened? Was it foul play? Had there been a mistake? In that moment, the funeral transformed into an investigation, the mourners now participants in a quest for justice.

As I stood there, the pieces began to fall into place. The suddenness of his death, the lack of a clear cause, and now this — it was all too much to ignore. My heart ached with a new kind of pain, one that mingled sorrow and anger into a potent mix.

Astoria remained by the coffin, her presence a reminder of the deep connection she shared with my husband. Her actions had sparked a search for the truth, and for that, I was grateful. She had done what none of us had the strength or insight to do.