“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.

In Mark’s eyes, Mrs. Vance was a burden, an old parasite with no value other than to annoy him. He was convinced that Mr. Harrison was coincidentally talking about someone else with the same name. Hearing Mark’s ramblings, which further denigrated the deceased, Mr. Harrison did not erupt in anger as before. This time, his reaction was much more frightening. He laughed, a short, cynical, and cold laugh that chilled the blood of everyone in the room. Mr. Harrison looked at Mark as one looks at a small disgusting insect that doesn’t know it’s about to be crushed. He began to walk slowly around Mark as if observing a defective exhibit.