Bree sat beside Tom in the front row and held his hand.
Surprisingly, he had not been upset to learn of his wife's affair with their neighbor, perhaps recognizing the loss in Bree's eyes.
The casket was closed, something Bree was thankful for as she approached. She didn't need anymore reminders; she could still see the large bloody spot on Lynette's left temple when she thought of her. The picture was much nicer. It was one that Bree, herself, had taken. Lynette was unaware of the camera, and laughing, her eyes alight and happy.
Bree gently touched Lynette's cheek, then drew back upon feeling cool, smooth glass. Placing both hands on the top of the casket, Bree exhaled slowly, sinking down until she was on her knees, forehead pressed to the glossy wood.
Although she was aware of the people filling the pews behind her, and what they may think, Bree found that for once, she didn't care in the slightest.
All she thought about in that moment was the question Lynette had asked her, before she walked across the street that night.
Are you ready, Bree? Are you ready for me to leave Tom and move in with you? You don't have to answer now. Just think about it.
Bree let out a shuddering breath, and hot tears trickled down her cheeks. Her voice was a cracked whisper.
I would have said yes.
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