There were times in Irene's childhood when she doubted that her parents loved one another and swore on everything she had that she would never be in a marriage as tumultuous as theirs—if she ever got married, at least.
However, as Irene went to say goodbye to her mother, who was constantly surrounded by maids considering her lack of desire to do anything for herself except sit there and mourn, Irene knew right away that what her mother and father had was love. It was pure love.
Love looked different on every person, but it didn't take away from what it actually was.
Rochelle adorned black mourning clothing, and in her lap was the last clothing Arthur wore before he was put into the formal attire he was buried in. She held it in trembling hands, fatigued from her lack of desire to eat and how hard it was to sleep without anyone next to her.
