Our mothers used to joke that we were more like sisters than friends.
The years passed.
I married Michael, and a few years later Susan got married too, then eventually divorced. When her marriage fell apart, she was there for me again. Or rather, we were always there for each other.
Michael treated her like a member of the family too.
Susan came to our house without calling first. She knew where we kept the glasses, what kind of coffee Michael liked, and she even had a spare key to our house.
I never thought there was anything strange about it.
She was Susan.
My best friend.
So when she suggested that we spend a week by the ocean together that summer, I immediately agreed. Michael had died almost a year earlier, and since his death, I had barely left the house.
