WASN’T THERE
The cemetery sat behind a row of tall pines, the kind that always look serious, like they were planted by people who believed in permanence. A wrought-iron gate creaked when I pushed it open.
I didn’t have flowers.
I didn’t have a plan.
I just needed a marker. A stone. Proof.
I walked toward the office building, but a voice stopped me before I got far.
“Hey.”
I turned.
An older man stood near the maintenance shed, wearing a faded jacket and work gloves. His posture was casual,
