He walked toward the casket slowly, deliberately, as if aware that every eye in the room was on him. He rested his hand on the polished wood and took a breath.
“Lena believed in moving forward,” he began, his voice measured, controlled. “She believed in forgiveness, in grace, in not holding onto bitterness. What happened was tragic, and unexpected, and I know she would want all of us to remember the good, not dwell on what we can’t change.”
There was something about the way he said it—too polished, too rehearsed—that made the words feel hollow.
“She wouldn’t want conflict,” he added. “She’d want peace.”
That was when Tessa moved.
She didn’t hesitate this time. She walked straight down the aisle, her footsteps echoing in the silence, and stopped just a few feet from him.
