We drove in silence not the kind that felt strained or awkward, the kind that was earned gently and familiar.
Nova was asleep in the back seat, head tilted to one side, her tiny fingers twitching like she was dreaming of something small and important.
Noah’s hand rested between us on the gearshift. Now and then, he’d brush his knuckle against mine. He didn’t say much, he didn’t have to but he knew where we were going.
The cemetery was on a quiet hill just outside the city. It consisted of simple, unadorned, clean rows of grey and stone, lined like soldiers under an open sky.
I hadn’t been here since, I didn’t make it to the burial because my mom didn’t tell me about it until it was too late and I wished my father had lived long enough to see me not just survive but bloom.
Now, I am he
