CHAPTER 1: THE GIRL BEHIND THE GRAVE
The cemetery had never been quiet to them.
Not really.
For seven years, every breath the couple took at that grave felt heavy—like the earth itself was listening.
The mother, pale and hollow-eyed, clutched the edges of the headstone as if it might answer her. The father stood behind her, silent, broken in a way words could no longer reach.
Then the wind shifted.
A small sound broke through the stillness.
Bare feet on gravel.
The mother turned first.
A little girl stood behind the grave.
Dirty dress. Tangled hair. Eyes too awake for a child who looked so lost.
She didn’t run.
Didn’t smile.
She simply stepped forward and pointed at the photograph carved into the stone.
Twin boys. Seven years old. Frozen in memory.
The girl’s finger trembled.
And then she said it again, softer this time:
“They’re not gone.”
The mother staggered back as if struck.
May you like
The father’s breath stopped completely.
Because something in the girl’s voice—something impossible—sounded like truth.
