My daughter-in-law di:ed in childbirth, but when eight men tried to lift her coffin, they couldn’t move it an inch.

But I had never buried a woman still carrying so many secrets.

At five in the morning, Julien stepped into the maternity ward corridor.

Clean shirt.

Neatly combed hair.

Dry eyes.

“Claire is gone,” he said.

I stood so quickly the chair scraped against the floor.

“And the baby?”

He lowered his eyes, not with grief, but like a man repeating a line he had practiced.

“The baby too.”