“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.

He screamed my name, begging for forgiveness, saying he had nowhere to go. He said his wallet was left inside, and he didn’t have a single dollar in his pocket because I had told the bodyguard not to give it to him. I stood behind the large living room window, watching the scene outside with an empty heart. The porch light illuminated Mark’s pathetic figure. He pounded on the glass, his face pressed against it, distorted by the streams of rain. He looked like a ghost from the past, trying to haunt me. But this glass now separated us. Behind Mark, Jessica stood shivering from the cold. Her mascara had run, staining her cheeks and making her look like a weeping clown.