The day of Davis' funeral arrived without mercy. Ann woke before dawn, her body stiff, her head aching, her chest tight like something was crushing her from the inside. For a brief, fragile second, she forgot where she was. Forgot why her heart hurt so badly.
Then it came back. All of it. She sat up slowly, pressing a hand to her mouth as her breath hitched. No. No. Please, no. But the silence answered her again, just as it had every morning since. Oliver stood at the door, already dressed in black. "They're here," he said quietly. Ann nodded, though she hadn't heard the cars arrive. She hadn't heard anything at all. Sound felt distant, like she was underwater, watching the world move without her. She dressed without comment. Black dress. Black shoes. Everything black. As if the color alone could explain the emptiness swallowing her whole.
When she stepped outside, the sight broke something inside her. The small white coffin.
So small. So painfully small. Ann froze. "No," she whispered. Oliver reached for her instinctively. "Ann". "No," she said again, louder this time, backing away. "That's not… that's not for my son." Her knees buckled, and if Oliver hadn't caught her, she would have collapsed right there in the compound.
"Ann, please," he murmured, holding her tightly. "I'm here. I've got you." She clutched his shirt like a drowning woman. "That's not my baby," she cried. "That's too small. He's bigger than that. He, he hates small spaces. He cries when he feels trapped." Oliver closed his eyes, his jaw tightening.
People gathered quietly around them, family friends, neighbors, faces blurred by tears and sympathy. Murmurs filled the air.
"So young…" "Such a sweet boy…" "This is unbearable…" Ann didn't hear any of it. All she could see was the coffin. When the pallbearers lifted it, something inside her shattered completely. "Wait!" she screamed, pulling away from Oliver. "Wait, please,don't take him yet!" The men hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances. Ann stumbled forward, her hands shaking violently as she reached out, touching the smooth surface of the coffin. "Davis," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Mama is here. Mama is right here." Oliver stepped closer, his voice low and urgent. "Ann, please… people are watching." "I don't care!" she snapped, tears streaming freely. "This is my child!" Her fingers traced the edges of the coffin like she could feel him through it.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I should have protected you. I should have known. I should have" Her voice cracked completely, dissolving into broken cries. Oliver wrapped his arms around her again, holding her tightly as her body shook. "I know," he whispered hoarsely. "I know." The service was a blur.
The pastor spoke softly, words about heaven and angels and eternal rest. Ann didn't listen. None of it mattered. No promise of peace could reach her through this kind of pain. When it was time to lower the coffin into the ground, Ann screamed again. "No! Please don't do this! Please!" She fought against the hands holding her back, desperation lending her strength she didn't know she had. "That's my son!" she cried. "You can't put him in the ground! He'll be scared! He'll be alone!" Oliver held her tightly, his own tears finally falling. "Ann… Ann, please. I'm begging you." She collapsed against him, sobbing uncontrollably.
As the coffin disappeared into the earth, Ann felt something final snap inside her. This wasn't denial anymore. This was goodbye.
After the burial, people approached her cautiously. "We're so sorry, Ann." "He was such a light." "You're in our prayers."
She nodded mechanically, barely hearing them. One woman squeezed her hand gently. "You're strong." Ann almost laughed.
Strong? She felt hollow. Empty. Like a shell that had already been abandoned. When the crowd thinned, Ann remained standing by the grave, staring down at the fresh mound of earth. "I'll never forgive whoever did this," she said quietly. Oliver stiffened slightly. "Ann". "I don't care who it was," she continued, her voice eerily calm. "I don't care why. Whoever took my son took everything from me." Oliver looked at her, something unreadable passing through his eyes. "You need rest," he said softly. "You've been through too much." She turned to him slowly. "Rest won't bring him back." "No," he admitted. "But staying alive matters. For us."
She didn't respond. That night, Ann returned home and stood in Davis' room again.
This time, she didn't cry. She sat on his bed, staring at the wall, her expression empty, her eyes dry. "I buried you today," she whispered. The words felt unreal in her mouth. Outside, the house remained quiet.
Inside, something dark and irreversible had taken root. And though Ann didn't know it yet, the woman who would eventually rise from this grief would not be the same woman who had laid her son to rest.