At my husband’s funeral, no one came except me. Our children chose parties over their father’s final goodbye.

At my husband’s funeral, no one came except me. Our children chose parties over their father’s final goodbye. The next morning, I…

Only I came to my husband’s funeral. Not our son, not our daughter, not a single grandchild—just me, standing by his coffin while the cold wind whipped through the chapel courtyard as if even the weather couldn’t bear to stay.

The funeral director looked uncomfortable, his eyes flicking between the empty seats and my face. He cleared his throat once, then again.

“Would you like us to wait a few more minutes, Mrs. Holloway?”

“No,” I said. “Start. George would have hated a delay.”