It filled every room in our home.
My marriage to Zane slowly collapsed beneath the weight of grief. We never screamed at each other. In some ways, that would have been easier.
Instead, we became strangers who spoke only about practical matters.
Jeremy’s appointments.
Household expenses.
School schedules.
Zane moved out when Jeremy was nine. The separation was quiet, just like everything else in our family had become.
Still, every year on the anniversary of Janice’s disappearance, I invited our closest relatives to dinner.
I made blueberry pie.
