On this particular afternoon, the rain was merciless. Heavy, cold, punishing rain. The kind that turned the cemetery paths into rivers of mud and soaked through expensive fabric in minutes.
Jude knelt in front of the white marble headstone, trousers ruined, black coat clinging to his shoulders, white roses in his hand.
Rebecca Roland Nelson
Beloved wife. Beloved light. Gone too soon.
He had chosen those words himself.
He pressed his palm against the cold stone and closed his eyes.
“I still miss you,” he whispered.
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