The small woman walking towards the door of the mortuary had the look of someone not wanting to be there. Twice during the short slow walk she half-turned, as if to go back, twice deciding to continue, albeit with heavy feet and heavier countenance. A close examination of the woman’s face would reveal to the casual onlooker an expression as though the entire world was weighing her down, watery eyes and trace of mascara on the run. She was smartly dressed, but that served to emphasise her reluctance.
But the onlookers weren’t casual, as she knew they wouldn’t be.