The early morning fog lay thick over the cemetery, turning the rows of tombstones into ghostly silhouettes.
A cold wind whispered through the skeletal branches of oaks and maples, carrying with it a faint scent of damp earth, fallen leaves, and the solemnity of grief.The congregation gathered in a semi-circle, their faces pale under the gray sky, eyes wet with tears and fear.
Every step they took seemed heavy, as though the ground itself resisted their intrusion into the sacred space. The air felt thick with anticipation, tension curling around everyone like a living thing.
Anna Parker clutched her husband Max’s hand, trembling violently, her nails digging into his palm until he winced, but did not let go.
