Chapter 1: The Husband Who Looked Perfect

Ryan leaned across the kitchen counter that morning holding a bakery box in one hand while the other rested gently against my cheek.

“I’ll be home early,” he whispered. “We’ll get through this, Alice.”

Since Claire’s funeral, he had become almost painfully attentive. Flowers every other day. Soft touches on my shoulder whenever I drifted too deep into silence. Quiet reminders to eat, sleep, shower, breathe.

On paper, he looked exactly like the kind of husband grieving women are supposed to feel grateful for.

But grief does strange things to memory. Some moments blur into fog while others sharpen until they feel carved into bone.

And every sharp memory led back to Claire.

My sister and I had always loved each other sideways. She was four years older, louder, harsher, fearless in ways that exhausted our parents. Claire left for the city the moment she could escape our hometown. I stayed. Followed rules. Smoothed over arguments before they turned into disasters.

Claire called me “the family brochure.”

I called her impossible.