Fallon
The grass is still wet from last night’s rain. The ground gives under my heels as I step toward the temporary headstone, every inch of me wrapped in black. A black dress. Black gloves. Black thoughts. Though the sky is clear now, the kind of bright blue that feels like a trick, it’s too soft, too kind for a day like this.
There are no chairs. No priest. No guests.
Just us.
My father stands to my left, hands clenched behind his back. He’s wearing his wedding ring again, something he rarely wore because he was scared of ruining it or losing it at work.
Leone is silent, a dark figure beside me, his hand at the small of my back. Milo flanks the other side, face unreadable behind his sunglasses, his jaw’s clenched like he’s chewing back something sharp.
The twins Anya and Mila hold
