I was not family.

I was, on paper, a hired stranger, a paid actor whose contract had ended with the client’s death.

But grief does not consult paperwork.

I had loved her, whatever the arrangement said, and being shut out of the room where they said goodbye to her felt like being told that my love had not been real, that it did not count, that it belonged to no recognized category and so could be disregarded.

I mourned her alone, in my apartment, with a bag of the dark chocolates I had bought out of habit before I remembered there was no longer anyone to bring them to.