I was fortunate–the caretaker of the cemetery hired me without hesitation.
Every morning, I would place a fresh daisy on my mother’s grave, then clean the grounds. Afternoons were spent wiping headstones..
I kept my hands busy and my thoughts steady. Occasionally, when new urns were brought in, I’d lend a hand. My days were simple yet full, and in that rhythm, not once did I think of Elliott.
The day we broke up, I blocked all his contacts. After all, our lives had diverged; we were parallel lines heading in opposite directions. Sometimes, I’d see glimpses of him in Tiffany’s social media updates, but I never lingered. My finger would swipe past the posts without a second thought.
My mother was right–we were from two entirely different worlds, and forcing ourselves together had always been futile.
The days in the cemetery were tranquil and fulfilling, though lately, I’d often see Connor.
I still remember our first encounter. Curious, I’d asked, “Dr. Wright, did you lose another patient today?”
