The church carried the heavy scent of old wooden pews mixed with too much funeral perfume.

My father’s memorial lasted far longer than anyone expected, and by the time we returned to my mother’s house in Little Rock, exhaustion clung to everyone like humidity.

Relatives I hadn’t seen in years still crowded the living room pretending grief had brought them there. They picked through casseroles that had been reheated too many times while quietly whispering about inheritance and property.

I sat alone in the corner, still wearing my Army dress uniform. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone. I had flown directly from Fort Benning and never had time to change clothes.