My husband and my sister laughed while my daughter Holly was dying in a hospital bed. Then he smirked and said, “Holly had a good run. We need that money for my son with your sister.”

he always pretended the title offended him.

“Grandpa?” he would say, pressing one hand over his heart. “I am far too young and handsome.”

“You have white hair,” Holly would reply.

“Fashion choice.”

“Your knees crack.”

“Also fashion.”

She would laugh, and every laugh felt like a stolen diamond.

The trial worked slowly.

Not perfectly. Not like movies. There continue reading …