June

ONE WEEK LATER.

My face is crumpled, my eyes clouded, as the priest’s words float over the gravestone. I sigh, licking my lips, tasting the bitter salt of my tears.

This isn’t real, right? It has to be some cruel, twisted dream.

I can’t believe it. I never got the chance to say thank you, to apologize, to tell him anything.

I can still see his smile, hear the warmth in his voice, feel the kindness in his touch. And now… it’s gone. Vanished. Dust.

Beside me, Leila wails, her ...