Chapter 1
990 Words
One Year Later
The cemetery was empty.
Elena preferred it that way.
Most people visited graves in the morning, carrying bouquets and sympathy and all the things they thought grief required. By late afternoon, the crowds were gone, leaving behind only silence and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind.
Silence was easier.
Silence didn't ask if she was doing better.
Silence didn't tell her Ronan would want her to move on.
Silence didn't look at her with pity.
The gravel path crunched beneath her boots as she made her way through the rows of headstones. In one hand, she carried a paper cup of coffee. In the other hand, nothing.
No flowers.
Never flowers.
Ronan hated flowers.
A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she stopped in front of the polished granite marker. The smile disappeared almost immediately.
One year. An entire year. Three hundred and sixty-five days.
It felt impossible. And yet there it was.
His name etched permanently into stone.
RONAN ALARIC BLACKWOOD
Beloved Son.
Beloved Fiancé.
Gone Too Soon.
Elena stared at the words for a long moment. The first few months after his death, she had hated the headstone. Hated the finality of it. Hated the way everyone seemed to accept it. As if carving a name into stone somehow made a tragedy easier to understand. Now she simply tolerated it. Not because she believed it. Because fighting it was exhausting.
She crouched and set the coffee beside the grave.
"Medium roast," she said softly.
The sound of her own voice startled her.
"I know. It's terrible."
A breeze swept through the cemetery. For a moment she imagined him laughing. Not the polite laugh he used around strangers. The real one. The one that started low in his chest and always made her smile before she even knew why.
Her throat tightened.
One year later and she still turned toward unexpected sounds expecting to see him. Still reached for her phone when something funny happened. Still woke some mornings forgetting. Only to remember all over again.
She sank down onto the grass. The late afternoon sun painted everything gold. The world looked unfairly beautiful. It always did. The day after Ronan died, the sky had been blue. Birds had sung. People had gone to work. Children had laughed. The universe hadn't paused for even a second. She had hated it for that.
"You know what the worst part is?" she asked the headstone.
The stone, predictably, remained silent.
"It's not the grief."
Her fingers traced the edge of the paper cup.
"It's getting used to it."
That was the part nobody warned her about.
Not the crying. Not the sleepless nights. Not the panic.
The adaptation.
The slow, terrible realization that life continued. Bills still needed to be paid. Groceries still needed to be bought. Laundry still piled up. The world kept turning. And somehow she kept turning with it.
Not living. Not really. Just surviving. Existing. Learning how to carry the weight instead of being crushed beneath it.
A shadow crossed the grass. Elena looked up. An elderly woman was placing fresh flowers several rows away.
White lilies.
The sight made her snort.
"See?" she muttered toward the grave.
"Lilies."
The memory surfaced immediately.
Three years ago. A flower shop. Wedding planning.
Ronan was standing in the middle of an aisle looking deeply offended by every arrangement in sight.
"Why are funeral flowers so depressing?"
"Because they're funeral flowers."
"Still. If I die, promise me nobody brings lilies."
"Why?"
"Because they look sad."
"You're criticizing flowers."
"They're judging me."
"Flowers aren't judging you."
"Those ones are."
The memory hit harder than she expected.
Elena closed her eyes. For a moment she could almost hear him. Almost. When she opened them again, the cemetery was silent. Empty. Still. Reality settled back into place. The familiar ache returned. Not sharp anymore. Just permanent. Like an old scar.
She looked toward the forest bordering the cemetery. The trees stretched dark and endless beyond the graves. Most people avoided those woods. Especially at night.
Local legends.
Old stories.
Missing hikers.
Animal attacks.
Every small town had its myths. Their town simply had more than most. The full moon would rise tonight. She knew because she'd seen it marked on her calendar that morning.
Not intentionally. Just coincidence.
Yet the knowledge lingered. The same way it always did. The night Ronan died had been a full moon. The detail shouldn't matter. And yet somehow it did.
Elena stood slowly. The grass clung to her jeans. She brushed it away and picked up the second coffee she'd brought. Her coffee. Cold now. She glanced at the headstone one last time.
"I'll see you next week."
The words slipped out automatically.
As though he could hear them. As though she hadn't spent the last year talking to a stone. As though part of her still believed he was listening. Maybe part of her always would.
She turned and started down the path. The wind shifted. The leaves trembled. And from somewhere deep within the woods—A howl echoed through the evening.
Elena stopped.
Every muscle in her body locked. The sound rolled across the cemetery. Low. Powerful. Ancient. Her pulse stumbled. Because she knew that howl.
Not logically. Not rationally.
But somewhere deep inside her, she knew it. The same howl. The exact same one. The one she'd heard one year ago. On the night Ronan Blackwood died. And for the first time in twelve months—Fear stirred beneath her grief. She stood motionless, staring at the dark tree line. The forest stared back.
Silent. Waiting.
The howl came again. Closer this time. And something about it felt almost...
Familiar.
Then the sound vanished. Leaving only silence. And the uneasy feeling that somewhere beyond those trees—something was watching. Something that knew her name. Something that had been waiting for her to listen.
- Writer
