They Held My Funeral While I Was Still Breathing. Then My Seven-Year-Old Nephew Looked Into the Coffin and Said, “Mommy, Aunt Madelyn Is Looking at Me”
Every single time, I had talked myself out of it. You’re being paranoid.
You’re being unfair.
You’re looking for problems. You learn to do that, when you love people who are good at rewriting the truth.
You learn to distrust your own eyes before you’ll distrust them.
That is the first thing they take from you, long before they take anything else.
I want to dwell on that, because it is the part of this story that I think matters to people who will never wake up in a coffin.
Long before Christopher took my consciousness, and my necklace, and nearly my house and my life, he took something quieter and more valuable: he took my confidence in my own perception.
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