It was a large cemetery. Graves could be easy to confuse.
But then he came back the next Saturday.
And the Saturday after that.
And again after that.
Week after week, this stranger mourned my wife like she had belonged to him too.
At first, I was confused.
Then I became angry.
Who was he?
How did he know Emily?
Why was this man showing up for her every week when some people in her own family barely came at all?
Emily had died fourteen months earlier from breast cancer.
She was only forty-three.
We had been married for twenty years.
Two children.
A quiet home.
A normal life.
