Autumn sits on a stool next to his coffin, resting her cheek on its lid like it’s his shoulder. She was talking when I walked in, but she falls silent and raises her head. “I’m sorry,” I say. It feels like I’ve walked in on them naked together, but Autumn shrugs and rests her head back on his box. A few moments later, she asks, “Do you want to talk to him alone?” Her voice is still hoarse and quiet. “No. I’m here in case…” Autumn has closed her eyes as if she has forgotten I’m here. “Should I go?” “Only if you want to.” Her nonchalance chills me. “We’re just being close one last time.” She
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