Melinda’s POV
The cemetery was quiet.
Not the kind of haunting quiet that presses against your skin.
Just… still.
It was the twins’ first time here. I’d never brought them before. Not because I didn’t want to — but because I didn’t know what I’d say.
How do you explain to your children that the strongest woman you ever knew gave up everything so you wouldn’t have to break the same way?
Elijah held my hand tightly. Elena picked wildflowers along the edge of the path, tugging petals like she was counting something only she understood.
James trailed behind us a few steps, respectful. Silent.
He hadn’t asked questions when I told him where we were going.
He just said, “I’ll drive.”
I stopped at the headstone and crouched beside it.
Patricia Holt. 1959–2004. Mother. Fighter. Teacher.
