Chapter 1: The Smell of Tuberose
"My funeral was held all morning, and I woke up just as my husband was placing my gold necklace on my sister.
I heard him say, 'She won't need it anymore.' I didn't scream or open the coffin.
I stayed completely still, listening as they talked about a 500,000-dollar life insurance policy…
until they mentioned who had prepared my last drink."
"Don't even bury her yet, and you're already giving away her things," I heard my mother say as I woke up inside my own coffin.
I didn't open my eyes right away.
First, I noticed the heavy smell of tuberose, then my dry tongue, my stiff back, and a deep ringing in my ears.
I tried to move my fingers, but they barely responded.
A rosary I didn't remember ever touching rested on my chest.
The lid wasn't completely closed.
A thin line of light came through a small gap.
It took me several seconds to understand where I was.
It was my mother's house in Milwaukee.
I recognized the wooden clock, the cream-colored curtains, and the plastic chairs we always brought out for family gatherings.
Except that morning there was no birthday or baptism.
There were candles, reheated coffee, women praying, and a photograph of me surrounded by white flowers.
They were holding my funeral.
The last thing I remembered was the night before.
My sister Chloe had arrived with a cup of warm milk with cinnamon because, according to her, I looked exhausted.
Then I argued with my husband, Christopher, about a 42,000-dollar transfer I had found in our bank account.
He swore it was a business payment.
I asked him for the receipt.
Then an unusual sleepiness overcame me.
And now I was inside a coffin.
Then I heard Christopher's voice.
"Gwen, don't worry.
Madelyn told me many times that if anything ever happened to her, she wanted Chloe to have this."
Through the narrow opening, I saw his hand.
He was holding the gold necklace my grandmother had given me when I turned fifteen.
My mother answered through her tears:
"She never took that necklace off, not even to sleep."
"Exactly," Christopher said.
"I don't want it to end up forgotten in a drawer."
I watched him walk toward Chloe.
My sister lowered her head, but not out of shame.
She looked anxious.
Christopher fastened my necklace around her neck.
I felt such a surge of anger that, for a moment, I forgot I could barely move.
"What if someone asks?" Chloe whispered.
"No one is going to ask anything.
The d3ath certificate is already done.
The insurance money will be released after the paperwork, and the house will be easier to transfer if we act quickly."
My breathing became shallow.
"I was afraid she would notice the taste yesterday," Chloe said.
Christopher let out a dry laugh.
"I told you how much to put in.
She fell asleep in less than ten minutes."
I wanted to scream.
I couldn't.
I only managed to move one finger beneath the fabric of the dress they had prepared me in.
I could hear my aunts praying for my eternal rest and a neighbor asking what time the funeral procession would leave.
Every word felt like another shovel of dirt being thrown over me.
If no one realized I was still alive, they could bury me that very day.
Then I heard small footsteps.
It was Mason, Chloe's seven-year-old son.
He approached while eating a cookie and looked through the opening in the coffin.
Our eyes met.
I blinked.
The boy froze.
Then he turned toward his mother and said with complete innocence:
May you like
"Mom…
Aunt Madelyn is looking at me."
