Standing back from the mirror, I eyed my appearance. I'd chosen the demurest dress I owned. It was solid black with long sleeves, a high neck, and it hung past my knees. Nothing sexy or showy. I looked like death, which was appropriate on so many levels. The last time I'd worn it was six years ago to my grandmother's funeral.
Today I felt like I was attending another funeral—the one for my career as a teacher. My hand went to my neck where my grandmother's pearls sat. As I fingered the beads, I murmured, “Donne moi de la force, Grand-Maman."
More than anything in the world, I needed strength tonight, and it only made sense to ask for it from one of the strongest women I knew. A woman who had also done something morally questionable for the good of her family.
When my phone dinged on the
