That night, Chris boarded a flight back home. He wished he could fly there on wings, but a sudden storm forced the plane to make an emergency landing. By the time he rushed into the house, more than half a month had passed. Spring sunshine filled the yard, but Chris shuddered violently. The yard was empty. Dust covered every windowsill.
"Clara! Clara! Where are you?!"
"Chris?" a voice called out. Chris spun around and saw their neighbor, Doris Hale, waving him over. "Go to the cemetery. Your mum is waiting for you," she sighed.
The cemetery?
He stumbled to the graveyard and saw his mother's gray photo on the tombstone. Chris's legs gave way, and he dropped heavily to his knees. "Mom—"
Doris stepped closer, holding a small bouquet of white flowers. "Place these for her."
Chris reached
