Refund

The funeral home called me on a Tuesday to give me my money back. They said there had been an administrative error, that my mother did not appear as deceased in any register, that they were sorry for the inconvenience.

I hung up with a nervous laugh, the kind of relief that aches in the ribs. I dialled her number straight away. It rang and rang against the silence of her empty house.

Then I remembered that I was the one who found her. That I was the one who closed her eyes. That I was the one who paid, in cash, so that nobody would ask questions.

The envelope with the refund arrived the next day. Inside, along with the money, there was a note in my own handwriting that I did not remember writing: thank you for coming to find me.