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After the service, I walked alone behind the pallbearers. I didn\u2019t cry. Not because I wasn\u2019t grieving\u2014I had been grieving for months\u2014but because there\u2019s a kind of sorrow so deep it sits motionless inside you like an anchor. That day, I was already buried under it.<\/p>\n
The cemetery was nearly deserted. One old groundskeeper watched from a distance, his hand resting on a spade. The coffin was lowered, the prayers whispered. Dust met wood. Wood met silence.<\/p>\n
I stood a while after the others left. My heels sank slightly into the earth, and I felt the wind catch my coat. The headstone would be placed later. For now there was only a simple plaque with George\u2019s name.<\/p>\n
George Holloway. Beloved husband. Father. Forgotten.<\/p>\n
The last word stuck in my mind like a stone in a shoe. Forgotten.<\/p>\n