“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.

The shout was so loud that Jessica flinched and dropped her purse. Mark was trembling violently, his knees weak. He tried to stammer an incoherent excuse. “No, sir. I just… this was planned a long time ago. It wasn’t my intention.” Those stupid excuses sounded even more pathetic to everyone’s ears. Mark tried to grab Mr. Harrison’s hand to plead for understanding, but Mr. Harrison snatched it away abruptly, as if Mark’s hand were something disgusting. Shut up, Mister. Harrison yelled again. I don’t need your excuses. I thought you were an upstanding and decent employee, but you’re nothing but a human being without a conscience. You have tormented your grieving wife to satisfy your pride and vanity.