His wife of 43 years—the woman who taught piano for more than three decades, who sewed Halloween costumes until her fingers ached, who packed lunches with handwritten notes tucked inside—looked like a stranger.
Her silver hair, usually pinned into a neat bun, hung loose and messy. She wore a shapeless brown thrift-store dress with an uneven hem and loose threads, topped with a thin cardigan missing buttons.
“You look terrible,” Frank murmured.
Diane gave a faint smile. “So do you.”
They fell silent—two people who had raised five children, paid for four college degrees, co-signed three mortgages, and written more checks than they could count for graduations, weddings, and grandchildren’s birthdays.
Two people who gave everything… and were about to learn what that had really meant.
The idea had started three weeks earlier—on Frank’s 70th birthday… or rather, on the night it was supposed to be celebrated.
Diane called each child herself: