“She wasn’t just a passenger, Ella,” she said. “She was his wife… and my sister. And she hated driving at night. She only got in the car because he insisted.”
“He told me it was raining,” I said, more to myself than her. “He said she lost control of the car.”
Alison laughed once, but it wasn’t mean. It was… an exhausted laugh.
“She was his wife… and my sister.”
“Of course he did. Ben’s always had a gift for erasing the parts of the story that make him look bad.”
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“Why didn’t anyone say anything sooner?”
“Because grief is a shield,” she whispered, shrugging. “And people are scared to poke holes in it.”
**
That weekend, we went to Ben’s mom’s house for lunch. She made lemon chicken pasta and garlic bread.
Her house smelled like rosemary.
“Because grief is a shield.”
It should have been warm and comforting.
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