ENID

The sanctuary of the church was cold, filled with the heavy scent of lilies and the muffled sounds of people who were probably only there to be seen.

My mother had picked out a satin dress for me, a dress that felt like a secondary layer of skin—a deep navy blue color that clung to every curve, the fabric so thin it felt like a betrayal. I knew it was definitely payback. She knew I hated feeling exposed, yet here I was, looking like I was headed to a gala instead of my own father’s memorial.

I hadn't argued. I couldn't. Not with the devil in a tailored Tom...