The crowd was thinning out.
Grief had begun to disperse into awkward silences and long glances. Muffled sobs had been replaced by polite condolences.
The mud around the grave was still fresh, the scent of disturbed earth curling in the air, sharp and damp. Celeste stood still, her coat tight around her, one hand in her pocket, the other holding the damp funeral program. Her gaze was still on the soil that now held Eleanor.
Dominic was long gone.
He hadn't waited. Hadn't even looked over his shoulder. The black car had pulled away with him inside it like it was a getaway, and maybe, in a way, it was. Escape from the finality. Escape from feeling.
She swallowed, dragging her focus away from the grave. A weight pressed into her chest like a fist she couldn't unclench.
