“NO REGRETS. ONLY FORWARD,” my daughter-in-law posted while I buried my only son. Forty-one mourners stood in freezing Ohio sleet; her front-row seat stayed empty. The next morning, I found her laughing in a yellow sundress, our landscaper’s hand on her waist. My untouched bourbon sat beside the laptop. Then my dead son’s phone number flashed: “Don’t tell a soul.”
PART ONE: THE DEAD MAN IN THE KITCHEN My daughter-in-law skipped my son’s funeral to spend the day […]