Taryn
The gravel crunched under the tires as we pulled off the main road. Trees lined the edge of a small clearing, their branches thick with leaves that shivered in the early morning wind.
Caz put the truck in park and killed the engine. Silence fell like a stone.
“This is it,” he said, his voice hoarse. He didn’t look at me. Just stared straight ahead, gripping the wheel until his knuckles turned white.
I reached for his hand again. He let me take it.
We got out, the air cold and damp around us. Dew clung to the grass. The cemetery was small, tucked away in a quiet corner of his old territory—nothing fancy, just rows of modest stones and a single bench beneath an old elm tree.
He led me past the graves slowly, each step heavier than the last.
We stopped at one near the back. The s
