I Buried Her Father 18 Years Ago — So Who Was She Talking to on the Phone?
My husband, Charles, died in a car crash when our daughter Susie was two weeks old—or so I believed. His mother handled everything: a closed casket, a rushed cremation. I never saw his body. I trusted her. I mourned. I raised Susie alone. Then, 18 years later, I heard Susie whisper into the landline, “I…