Chapter 11 — The Doors Open

A blast of cold winter air swept down the center aisle of the chapel, cutting through the warm scent of the lilies and the beeswax candles.

The organist’s hands stumbled on the keys, and the music died into a startled silence, and every single person in the pews turned to look at the doorway.

And I walked in.

I walked down the center aisle of my own funeral, unassisted, my head high, the faint healing marks still visible near my jaw, my dark eyes fixed on the man at the altar.

Beside me walked Douglas, tall and grave in a dark suit, carrying a black baby carrier as carefully as if it held the crown jewels, which, as far as I was concerned, it did.