“Your mother is gone. Tears won’t bring her back—so wipe your face, make dinner, and don’t look like a grieving child when my guests arrive.” That was what my husband said.

Mark dropped the bags abruptly on the porch floor, and the crash made my head ache even more. He shot me a sharp look, as if urging me to move and wipe that expression of sadness from my face. I tried to ignore his cold attitude and go inside to rest. My body was exhausted. Not only was I physically drained from watching over my mother’s body since the previous night, but my soul was in pieces. However, my steps halted when Mark grabbed my arm forcefully. He forced me to turn and face him. His gaze was cold and demanding. He told me I couldn’t rest now. In 2 hours, important guests from his company would be arriving at our house.