The breeze was gentle that afternoon, rustling the bare branches as though whispering secrets only the trees could understand. Riele stepped carefully between the headstones, her fingers interlocked with Harry's as they made their way toward the familiar spot. It had been three months—three quiet, aching months since they last stood here together. Time had softened the sharpness of their grief, but the ache still lived somewhere inside them, persistent and tender.

Their mother’s grave ...