The air smelled faintly of lilies and rain. Ellen brushed a fallen petal aside, studying the clean grooves of the name carved in stone. Whoever had been here hadn’t harmed; they’d cared enough to tidy up the place. Yet that thought unsettled her. One could fear kindness just as much as malice.
A week later, the same quiet order greeted her. Fresh flowers. Leaves cleared. The vase gleamed in sunlight. Again, there were no footprints or traces of anyone’s visit but hers. She tried to reason it away as the wind, rain, or a coincidence. But grief had trained her to notice details others would overlook.