~ Hector ~
I always come alone. No club, no friends, no excuses. Just me.
The cemetery hasn’t changed in years. The gravel still crunches beneath my boots in the exact same spots, and by late afternoon, the oak tree still casts its long shadow over the headstones. Their names are right where I left them last year, right where they’ll be next year.
I kneel between them and pull the fresh flowers from the paper wrapping. White lilies. Her favourite. Then I set a small red toy truck in front of my son’s headstone. I buy a different toy every year even though he never gets the chance to collect them.
My fingers brush across the engraved letters before I realise I’ve been staring without really seeing.
“I’m late,” I whisper.
No one answers. No one ever does.
“I got caught up.” The corner
