The tent was full. Mourners had come from all over friends, family, church members, even people I hadn’t seen in years. They sat under the sun with somber faces, wiping away tears, murmuring about how “young” and “hardworking” my husband was.
But as I stood in the shadows, just behind the fence, watching them cry over a man I once called my world, all I felt was rage. Not because he had died, but because of how he had lived. to read more click here
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