CHAPTER 8
MAEFog hung heavily around the cemetery, woven around the gravestones, and sitting feet off the muddy grass. Rain pounded down onto our black umbrellas like a gloomy serenade. I held Dad’s umbrella as he knelt before Mom’s gravestone, his body doubled over and his head in his hands.
He drew his finger over the indentations of her name and placed a single moonflower—Mom’s favorite—on the grave. The flower emitted a white glow—the only sense of hope on this dreary afternoon—gleaming and glimmering under the downpour.
Dad’s lips trembled, tears spilling down his cheeks. I knelt beside him and hugged him to me, like I did every year. I didn’t remember Mom; she’d died when I was merely three years old, so coming here didn’t affect me like it probably should’ve.
“I miss her so much
