They kept me out of their cottage for 4 years because of “mold”—after they died, the lawyer handed me a key… and that door made me freeze.

I sent casseroles, frozen in courier boxes. I sent cards for every holiday.

I waited.

Then, one Tuesday in March, I received a phone call from a woman named Patricia Duval—Renee’s lawyer. Her voice had the careful gentleness people use when they already know they’re about to change everything.

She told me there had been a car accident on the Trans-Canada: a transport truck that crossed the center line on an icy stretch near Antigonish.

Renee and Thomas were gone.