Six years later…
The sky hangs heavy with gray clouds, casting a somber pallor over the cemetery. A steady, cold rain patters against the black canopy of our umbrella, each drop echoing the ache in our hearts. The chill in the air seeps into our bones, an unwelcome reminder that even as spring struggles to emerge, grief knows no season. The wind sighs through the skeletal trees, carrying with it the earthy scent of damp soil and the delicate perfume of early blossoms. As we stand at the wrought-iron gates, the weight of sorrow presses down upon us, suffocating in its intensity.
Hades grips my hand tightly, our fingers intertwining, as our five-year-old daughter, Arabella, nestles between us beneath the shelter of the umbrella. Her small hand clutches a posy of wildflowers, their vibrant
