CIARA’S POV

The flowers in Darragh's hands trembled slightly in the fall breeze. White lilies and purple irises, bound with a simple ribbon that matched the color of Saraphina's eyes. He'd insisted on stopping at three different florists until he found the exact shade.

The cemetery stretched out before us, quiet except for the rustle of autumn leaves. Two headstones sat side by side beneath an old oak tree, their marble surfaces catching the late afternoon sunlight. I stayed back while ...