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THE VIGIL

She was much too young, too ravishing to be a widow.

The essence of propriety, she sat on a chair at the foot of her husband’s coffin, graciously greeting those who came to pay their respects.

Her husband’s beloved Adagio in G Minor played softly in the background.

A tear escaped and she dabbed her eye with a lace handkerchief. Her stepson, her husband’s grown son, stood behind her, a conciliatory hand lightly on her shoulder.

His thumb discreetly caressed her velvet neck.

NAR Β© 2023
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