*Weeks Late*
Stephanie was gone.
The funeral had been quiet. Small. Almost ashamed. Like even in death, people still whispered about the disease instead of her name.
Vivian sat near the front, one hand curled protectively around her stomach, the other wrapped in Christopher’s.
The pain had been raw. Not because they were close, not because they’d shared secrets or holidays or late-night phone calls, but because it had been so preventable.
Vivian stood in front of the casket that day, her hand curled gently over her growing stomach, a silent promise whispered between breaths.
“I won’t forget you. Till we meet again”
And Genevieve? Gone. Maybe she ran. Maybe she ended it. Some said she committed sucide to quicken her death.
Others swore she shot herself in the head. But the whisp
