The day they buried an empty coffin with my name on it, I stood across the street wearing a borrowed jacket and a hat pulled low over my face.
People cried. Some pretended better than others.
My relatives wailed loudly, neighbors whispered prayers, and my husband held our children like a grieving widower.
To the world, I was dead. But I was very much alive, watching the ceremony meant to erase me.
It started with an accident that should have killed me. A late-night drive, a sudden impact, then darkness.
When I woke up days later in a small private clinic miles away, the nurse looked shocked.…CONTINUE READING