“Your mother is gone. Tears won’t bring her back—so wipe your face, make dinner, and don’t look like a grieving child when my guests arrive.” That was what my husband said.

His eyes scanned the entire messy room filled with the remnants of the party. Then his gaze stopped precisely on my eyes, swollen and red. The silence that fell over the living room contrasted dramatically with the noise of the party just a few seconds before and it became suffocating. Mr. Harrison stopped at the threshold, emanating an aura of authority that would intimidate anyone. He wore a very expensive looking dark gray suit that contrasted with the casual shirts of Mark’s friends. His hair, beginning to gray, was neatly combed back, and his penetrating gaze swept the room as if conducting a surprise inspection of a troubled branch office.