He stood before it, the cheap plastic wrapping on the flowers crinkling in his trembling hand. The man who had commanded boardrooms and charmed venture capitalists was rendered mute. What could he say? *I’m sorry?* The words were a profound insult, a pathetic attempt to balm a wound he had deliberately carved into the world. *I miss you?* He had forfeited that right the day he chose a term sheet over her trust.
He knelt, the damp earth soaking through the knee of his expensive trousers, and placed the freesias at the base of the stone. His fingers brushed against the cold, carved letters of her name. It was an indictment. A final, unchangeable fact.
He stayed there for what felt like hours, a statue of regret as the sun began its slow descent. He relived it all. The initial excitement of
