A woman in a black dress stepped up to the casket alone. Dark hair, tight bun.
She glanced around, then slipped her hand under Greg’s, tucked something in, and patted his chest.
Susan.
Susan Miller. His “work lifesaver.” She owned the supply company that delivered to his office. I’d met her a few times at events. Thin, efficient, always laughing just a little too hard.
At that moment, she was the woman sneaking a note into my husband’s coffin.
I snapped a picture of the paused frame.
“Thank you,” I told Luis.
Then I walked back to the chapel.
Susan was near the back, talking to two women from Greg’s office. Tissue in her hand, eyes red, like she was the grieving widow in some alternate universe.
When she saw me coming, her expression flickered. Just for a second. Guilt.
I stopped right in front of her. “You left something in my husband’s casket.”
Susan blinked. “What?”
“I watched you do it on camera. Don’t lie to me.”
“I… I just wanted to say goodbye,” she whispered.
“Then you could’ve done it like everyone else. You hid it under his hands. Why?”
People around us were listening. I could feel it.