I left the hospital carrying my daughter’s ashes when my husband finally called from wherever he was with his mistress and coldly said, “The bill has been taken care of. Stop bothering me.” I didn’t argue with him. I didn’t allow him to hear my voice break.

“Your daughter,” I replied.

He frowned deeply, looking at me as though he thought I was trying to provoke him into an argument.

“Stop playing games, Nora.”

“Chloe died three days ago,” I said calmly.

“I called you seventeen times while she was slipping away.”

Brendan stared directly at the ceramic urn.