Marco

The sun had started to set when we lowered Nonna into the ground. The sound of the soil hitting the top of the coffin was dull.

People stood quietly in a wide circle, their heads bowed. Some were crying, others were whispering prayers under their breath.

I squatted near the grave, my elbows resting on my knees, fingers knotted together so tight they ached. The dug-up grave made me realize just how final it was.

I was never going to see her again. I stared at the spot where they’d just buried the only woman who ever gave a damn whether I lived or died.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered....