Sitting at his small dining table, Mark waited for his morning pot of tea to finish steeping. The teapot was older than he was - one of the few things he had inherited from his dear grandmother that he'd wanted to keep.

He'd been pretending to April that he didn't know why their recent talks about death were getting to him, but he knew why. His family had all pre-deceased him. Oh, there was still a odd cousin or three hanging about, but the few that wouldn't prefer him dead likely wouldn't even recognize him.