They didn’t go to bed. Instead, they drove back to the cemetery at 3:00 AM and parked their car behind a maintenance shed. They sat in the dark, watching Michael’s grave through binoculars.
At 3:55 AM, the dented silver sedan from the video pulled quietly into the service entrance. The woman stepped out. She looked tired, her shoulders hunched against the cold. She held the signature red rose.
As she reached the headstone and knelt to place the flower, Peter and Mary stepped out from behind a large marble mausoleum. “Noah?” Peter’s voice was barely a whisper, but in the silence of the cemetery, it sounded like a thunderclap.
