The message came in Saturday evening. Our dear friend’s sister was dead. I’ll call her Mary. My heart sank in an all-too-familiar way. Not another, I thought. Not again.
My Best Beloved stared at the message on his phone. I didn’t want to ask, but I’m sure the question was all over my face.
“She was found in her apartment,” he said, not answering the question I knew he was asking as well. “I’m going to call.”