After breakfast, Gwen went back to bed, her head still throbbing. She was drifting off, the covers pulled up to her chin, when the door creaked open. Elizabeth stood in the doorway, holding a stack of papers, her face apologetic. “Sorry to wake you,” she said. “But these need your signature. Vendors won’t release the flowers or the casket without it. I checked everything—amounts are right, dates are correct.”
Gwen blinked, her vision blurry. She reached out, and Elizabeth handed her a pen. “Just sign here, and here,” she said, pointing to the bottom of each page. “That’s it.”
Gwen’s hand moved automatically, scribbling her name without looking. She trusted Elizabeth. For the first time in twenty years, she trusted her. “Thanks,” she mumbled, handing the papers back. “I’ll be down later.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Sleep well.”
When Gwen woke up a few hours later, the house was silent. Too silent. She stumbled out of bed and down the hall, her migraine gone. The guest room door was open. Empty. The sheets were stripped, folded neatly at the foot of the bed. Elizabeth’s suitcase was gone, her toothbrush missing from the bathroom.
Gwen’s heart sank. She hurried to the kitchen, and there it was—a note taped to the fridge, scrawled in Elizabeth’s neat handwriting: Found a hotel—decided to move over there. Thanks for letting me stay. See you at the funeral.
That was it. No explanation, no goodbye.