The afternoon breeze blew gently, carrying a few dry leaves across the expanse of grass in the cemetery, which was beginning to grow quiet.
Celine stood motionless beside Mark, gazing at the mound of fresh earth now covered with a scattering of red roses and jasmine.
The distance between them was just a single small step, so close, yet an invisible boundary kept their bodies from touching at all.
The silence surrounding Mark's grandfather's grave felt so thick, as if time had deliberately stopped to make room for these two souls who had once destroyed each other.
The headstone remained the focus of Mark's dimming gaze.
"Thank you for coming," Mark said in a deep baritone voice.
"Grandpa was a good man, Mark. He never did anything wrong to me," Celine replied softly, her eyes fixed intently on the name engraved on the still-pristine headstone.
