er again. She would never hear her voice again. There would be no one who could ever replace Steffl

day of her burial. The realization that it was not a prank started to hit her. So hard like a tsunami. Eating slowly became too

uld ever see Stefflon again. Her brain had thought through other possibiliti

st life. Anything else has to accept that Stefflon was truly gone. She had been Whitney’s whole life; how would she go on l

d at her reflection in the large mirror in her bathroom and she had never been gladder for being a black woman. Despite th

the bathroom. It was the first and only time she ever su

uldn't muster enough strength

ed to fit anymore and she had not been able to get a new one because her schedule was tight between work and preparations for the

es lower. She ran to her closet and took out the gown. Goodness, it had been about

on. It was a perfect size. Stefflon had her bac

neral was in two hours and at a location

hat she had requested to be custom-made black to march her curta

erself for the struggle she was about to embark on. To be honest, having 4c hair had its disadvantages when it was not straightened, a broken comb and sore arms

hat it took for her to pac

the funeral. Stefflon was not religious so there were no prayers, priests, or anything, just a couple o

*

death. Like a

isitation was dressed in black and all the faces were ebbed with sadness. She clutched her

had felt guilty after Ken left, she realized she had been too harsh

Her face was wet with tears, she looked leaner than Whitney had ever seen her. “Whit.” She threw herself on Whitney for a warm hug. “It is s

hold back her tears. “How are you doing?” She instantly regretted as

was no way she could be okay when her only daughter was about to be buried...to be abandoned six feet below the ear

h her tears. “I suppose I will survive.” She too

She was sad. She was in denial. She was questioning

ay. “I suppose I wi