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The obituaries are the best part of my day. I get to the newsroom right at nine. I make my first mug of Darjeeling tea. I settle in at my desk with a crisp copy of that morning’s paper. And I read the obits.

My assistant Eric Chen thinks it’s the funniest thing in the world. “You just want to make sure you’re still alive,” he says, “so you can go about your earthly mission to make everybody else’s life miserable.”

“Poop!” I snarl back at him. “I’m just being nosy.”

Anyway, the only person I made miserable reading the obits that particular Monday morning was me. “Good gravy,” I gasped. My stomach was rolling like I’d swallowed ten pounds of baby snakes.

Eric’s desk bumps right up to mine. He was drinking his first Mountain Dew of the day. “Somebody you know, Maddy?”

I answered in a whisper so faint I barely heard it myself. “Somebody I used to know very well.”

I clutched the loose skin on my neck and read:

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