Isla’s POV

I stood at the edge of my mother’s grave, my fingers clenched so tightly around the stem of a single white lily that the thorns bit into my skin. My nails dug into my palm, anchoring me, keeping me from collapsing under the weight of it all.

Mom was gone.It didn’t feel real.

People around me sniffled and whispered, their murmured condolences blending into a low hum I couldn’t focus on. My breath came shallow, uneven. My body was here, but my mind was elsewhere, replaying ...