Right in the middle of my husband’s funeral, while my children were pretending to cry next to the casket
The text message read: “The body in the casket isn’t mine.” A gasp escaped my lips, so quiet I could barely hear it myself. Mr. Aurelio drove for half a block without turning on the headlights, keeping close to the curb, as if the old car could become invisible in the heavy Beverly Hills rain. … Read more