Back at home, I placed the casserole on the counter and stood in the kitchen. Nancy’s rainbow magnets still decorated the refrigerator. Her shoes rested by the door, toes pointed outward like she might dash inside at any second.

I began speaking aloud, unable to bear the silence.

“Did you see how many sunflowers they brought, Nance? You would have liked that.”

The kettle’s whistle startled me. I poured tea, only to realize I had prepared two cups out of habit.

My phone rang. For a second, I let myself hope — foolishly — that it might be my mother, ready to end the silence between us.

It was Rosie.

Her voice sounded bright and forced. It didn’t belong in my house today — too cheerful, too ordinary — like laughter echoing down a hospital corridor.

“Cass, you sound tired. I wanted to let you know we moved the housewarming to today. The weather was too perfect to pass up. You know how hard it is to get everyone together.”

Hearing her voice made my fingers go numb around the phone, remembering how she had rushed me out the door a week earlier — “Take Maple, it’s faster, Cassie” — before I had even finished packing Nancy’s snack.

“Today… was Nancy’s funeral.”

There was a pause, as though the words hadn’t registered, and then she continued anyway.

“Cassie, this is my first home. You know how much this means to me. People have already brought gifts. You can’t possibly expect me to postpone everything for —”

“For my daughter?”

She let out a sigh. “You always make things so dramatic. Nancy is gone. Are you jealous that I’m finally getting something nice?”

My grip tightened. “Jealous?”

She went on. “I didn’t come because I couldn’t. I had people counting on me. Can’t you just be happy for your big sister for once? I’m finally building something.”

“I buried my child today, Rosie.”

Her tone grew colder. “And I bought my first home. Are you going to keep bringing up Nancy every time something good happens to someone else?”

My knees gave way, and I lowered myself into a kitchen chair, clutching the table’s edge.

“Is Mom there?” I asked softly.

“She was. She brought chocolate cake and left after lunch. Everyone’s been asking about you, by the way. Wondering if you’ll stop by.”

I swallowed hard. “Maybe I will,” I heard myself say.

Rosie sounded relieved. “Good. Just try to be positive, okay?”

I ended the call before she could continue. I stared at the blank screen for a moment.

Then I picked up my keys and looked at myself in the mirror.

“I won’t scream. I won’t collapse,” I said aloud. “But I will look her in the eye.”

I didn’t know what waited beyond her front door — only that staying home would let the guilt keep speaking for me.

**

Rosie’s new house sat at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac, freshly painted, green and gold balloons tied to the mailbox. Music spilled into the street, laughter loud and easy.

I parked across from the house and watched guests carry wrapped presents inside.

Nancy loved green balloons.

The thought nearly brought me to my knees, but I forced myself forward, walking past neighbors holding plates of food.

A woman from my book club touched my arm. “Cassie… I didn’t expect to see you here.”

I attempted a smile. “I wasn’t sure I’d come back either.”

She gave my arm a gentle squeeze and moved on.

Rosie opened the door before I knocked. For a split second, surprise flickered across her face before she replaced it with a wide smile. “You came,” she said, a warning beneath her tone.

“Yes,” I answered. “We need to talk. You scheduled your housewarming for the day of Nancy’s funeral.”

Her eyes flicked to the people behind me. “Could you not say that so loudly? “If you do this in front of everyone, Cassie, I’ll tell them you’re unstable. I’ll make sure they believe it. Mom even chose me over you.”

“I’m not whispering about my child, Rosie.”

“You’re bringing down the mood, Cassie.” She flashed another smile at someone waving from the sidewalk. “Come inside before you freeze.”

I stepped inside, scanning the room. Streamers draped from the ceiling; guests laughed; someone poured wine. No one met my eyes for long.

Not a single black dress. Not a single hushed voice. Just music loud enough to pretend grief was something you could ignore next door.

I was certain my daughter’s name hadn’t been spoken once in this house.

Rosie pulled me into the hallway.

“Don’t make this about you, Cassie,” she said.

“You made it about you,” I replied. “You chose the day I buried her.”

She exhaled sharply. “Today worked. I’m not postponing my life because you’re falling apart.”

“She was seven.”