Vincenzo’s words hit Anna hard. She stared at him, mouth slightly open, but no sound came.
A heavy, painful sob caught in her throat, choking her.
Her chest rose and fell in silent, ragged heaves.
“She’s gone,” Vincenzo continued. “No amount of tears will change that. Do you really think your grandmother would want this? To see you crying like this and making yourself sick over her?”
Anna’s head dropped, as if the strings holding it up had been cut.
A broken, guttural wail escaped her, raw and loud enough to make the leaves on the nearby trees shake.
She cried with every fiber of her being, her fists clenching handfuls of dry grass and dirt.
Vincenzo watched her for a long moment, then exhaled a slow, weary breath.
He turned and walked to a weathered wooden bench just across from
