My Husband Said the Funeral Van Would Take Me to a Clinic—Then a Loose White Cord Gave Me a Chance to Get Out
The road narrowed.
Branches brushed against the van, and fallen leaves covered places where I expected to see painted lines.
“Then tell me where we’re going.”
“He knows the way,” David said.
Clara came forward when the van slowed at a rough patch.
She held the white cord.
“Get back in your seat,” David told her.
Instead, she knelt near my feet.
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