ROGERIO

I had been visiting Maria’s grave every week since my memory returned. Mostly out of guilt. I felt responsible for what had happened to her in more ways than one. If I had listened, if I had stopped Elena before she spiraled, none of this would have happened.

Maria would still be alive, and perhaps, Charlotte would still be here too. But it was too late for “maybes” and “could-haves.”

I hadn’t returned to the office yet. There was nothing there that my grandfather and mother couldn’t handle, and I needed to be alone. This place, the cemetery, seemed like the perfect escape.

It had become a ritual. Each...