He didn’t wail. He didn’t call for help. His shoulders only trembled as his fingers stroked the wet soil, as though the earth itself might whisper a reply he could carry to the living world.

The Man in the Dark Suit

From the opposite path, a tall man in a rain-dark suit walked as if every step weighed a year. He had just buried his wife. His eyes were empty in that stunned, hollow way grief makes of a face.

He saw the child. Something in his chest tugged—an ache recognizing an ache. He slowed, then turned toward the boy.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, stopping beside him. “Is that your mother?”