Not the kind of quiet that comforts, that wraps itself around grief and allows it to breathe. This was a brittle silence, stretched too thin, ready to break at the slightest sound. It clung to the walls, to the heavy curtains, to the faces gathered around the coffin at the center of the room.
Victor couldn’t take his eyes off the skeleton’s left hand. He was missing a phalanx. The same small bone that Catalina had lost at seventeen, when a metal door crushed her finger at her grandmother’s house, was not broken. It was complete. Victor felt the floor disappear beneath his feet. “No… it can’t be…” he…
