"Marcus was the very embodiment of joy when he was little," Billy began, his tone soft and distant, as though his words were being pulled from the depths of memory. "Always running around with that wide grin on his face. That boy… he had a smile that could melt stone. The kind of smile that could make you forget every trouble weighing on your chest."
A faint, nostalgic smile curved his lips as he looked over the shimmering water. "He was a wonderful kid. Curious. Talkative. And yes, a momma's boy through and through—always glued to Maya's side, following her around like a shadow that never wanted to fade."
Serah sat quietly, her eyes locked on him, her grip on the fishing rod forgotten. She didn't dare interrupt—the way his voice softened with every word told her this was more than a story. It was a wound being reopened.
