The tag did not match. The county case number on the identification sleeve was one digit off from the number on Lena’s transfer paperwork, and the two women processed the same night had been switched at intake. There had been an accident on the interstate that night with two fatalities, both women, similar in age and build, and an overworked night technician had transposed a single number. The woman we buried was not my wife. The notch Rowan looked for was not there because he was right. It was not her.

I want to be careful about what came next, because it was not a miracle and I will not pretend it was. Lena was still gone. The correct body had been released to another family two towns over, and they had already held a service too, for a woman they had never met. Two households had grieved the wrong person. The detective spent a week untangling it and it was, in the end, an error, terrible and human, not a crime, though the facility was cited and the night technician did not keep the job.