Pressure built behind my eyes as people milled around the gravesite. They would shake their heads or mutter things like “such a waste” or “poor Leighton.” The only one who didn’t seem affected by it all was the woman standing next to me, a blank mask on her face. It was wrong. All of it so wrong I wanted to scream. Dad would’ve hated everything about today. The black. The formality. The fakeness.
