Grief

I woke with a dull ache pulsing behind my eyes and for a few blissful seconds, my mind was completely blank. I lay there staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint creaking of the old farmhouse and the soft rustle of leaves brushing against the windows. Everything felt strangely peaceful, and I almost convinced myself that yesterday had been nothing more than a terrible nightmare.

"Dad..." I called automatically but no answer.

A small crease formed between my brows. Dad always answered. Even if he was outside feeding the animals, he would shout back that he'd be in soon.

I pushed myself upright too quickly, and pain exploded through my head. I pressed my fingers against my temple, squeezing my eyes shut until the dizziness eased.

I threw the blanket aside, intending to find him myself, but before my feet touched the floor, a calm voice stopped me.

"You're awake."

I looked toward the doorway and saw Dante standing at the doorway, leaning against the frame with one hand braced against the wood. His face was still pale from blood loss, and fresh bandages disappeared beneath his dark shirt, but he looked steadier than he had yesterday.

Seeing him should have reminded me of the stranger I had rescued, but instead, it reminded me of the barn.

“Uhmm... Dan, I need my dad. I have to see him.” I said quickly, climbing out of bed.

"Freshen up first."

I stared at him as if he had spoken another language.

"What?”

"You heard me."

Confusion washed over me. For one moment, I couldn't understand why he was refusing me,then my eyes drifted downward. I wasn't wearing yesterday's clothes. Instead, I had on one of Dad's oversized flannel shirts. My hands were clean and the blood that had soaked into my skin was gone, but I could still feel it.

I could still feel its warmth slipping between my fingers. The memory returned with terrifying clarity. Dad hanging from the ropes, his weak smile,his final word.

Run.

My knees buckled beneath me, and I collapsed onto the edge of the bed.

"No..."

The whisper barely escaped my lips before tears blurred my vision. I covered my mouth with shaking hands, but nothing could stop the grief crashing over me.

"He's..."

I couldn't finish the word, like it refused to leave my mouth. If I said it aloud, it would become real.

Instead, silent sobs tore through me, each one feeling as though something inside my chest was breaking apart.

I didn't notice Dante moving until strong arms wrapped carefully around me.

For a brief moment, I stiffened,then the last of my strength disappeared. I grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands, clinging to him as another wave of grief overwhelmed me.

"I don't understand," I cried against his chest. "He always came home. No matter how late it was... he always came back. So why didn't he come back this time?"

Dante remained silent. He didn't offer meaningless comfort or empty promises.

Instead, he simply held me. One hand rested gently against the back of my head while the other moved slowly across my back, steady and reassuring. Somehow, that quiet presence eased the unbearable loneliness pressing against my heart.

Eventually, exhaustion won. My crying slowed while my breathing became uneven and then, darkness claimed me once again.

When I opened my eyes later, golden afternoon sunlight stretched across the bedroom floor.

For one fleeting second, I forgot everything but then I saw Dante sitting quietly in the old rocking chair beside the window and the memories returned instantly.

“You’re awake again,” he said softly.

I nodded weakly. Without another word, he stood, poured a glass of water, and handed it to me.

"Drink."

My throat felt dry enough to burn, so I accepted it without argument. The cool water soothed the raw ache, but it couldn't wash away the heaviness sitting inside my chest.

A few minutes later, he returned carrying a tray. Steam curled from a bowl of homemade soup. Fresh bread rested beside slices of fruit that had been carefully arranged on a small plate. He placed the tray in front of me.

"Eat."

I stared at the food without moving.

"I'm not hungry." I whispered.

"You need to eat."

“Dan, I can’t. Everything will taste like ash.”

“You can,” he said with a surprisingly calm voice. “If your father were standing here right now, would he want you to starve yourself?”

“No.” I answered as fresh tears filled my eyes.

“Would he want you to fall apart completely?”

“No,” I admitted hoarsely.

“Then eat.”

I picked up the spoon with shaking fingers and started eating. The first mouthful tasted exactly as I expected and the second wasn't any better. Still, I forced myself to continue, not because I wanted to, but because Dad would never forgive me for refusing to take care of myself.

Halfway through the bowl, I lowered the spoon.

“I can’t anymore.”

Dante glanced at the half-empty bowl before giving a slight nod.

"You've eaten enough for now."

For the first time since yesterday, he almost sounded... gentle.

An hour later, I stepped out of the bathroom. I had washed my face and changed into clean jeans and a soft sweater. My eyes were still swollen and red, but a quiet determination had settled inside me. I took one slow breath before stepping back into the hallway.

“I want to see him,” I said.

Dante studied me for several long seconds, as though deciding whether I was strong enough. Finally, he gave a single nod.

"Come with me."

Without another word, he turned toward the back door and as I followed him, my heart grew heavier with every step, because somehow...

I already knew where he was taking me.

He led me behind the house toward the old oak tree, where he dug a grave and beside it rested a shovel with my Dad lying inside the grave.

His body had been carefully cleaned. He wore clean clothes while his hands rested peacefully across his chest. Wildflowers had been placed carefully around the grave with a simple wooden cross standing at the head.

My knees gave way as I sank beside the grave, unable to tear my eyes away from him. Tears streamed silently down my face and for a long time, I couldn't say anything.

Finally, my voice broke the silence.

“You always said... when your time came, you wanted to stay right here... under this tree.” A watery laugh escaped me.

“You really got your wish, you stubborn old man.”

I reached out and gently touched the earth beside him.

“But I wasn't ready. I thought we had more time. I thought... I thought I could leave this town and come back and you'd still be here waiting, but...”

I couldn't finish my words because every ending word results in the same thing. After a long moment, I reached down and gently squeezed his cold hand one last time.

“I love you, Dad.”

I stayed there for another moment before forcing myself to stand. My legs trembled as I picked up the shovel.

“You don't have to do that,” Dante said quietly behind me.

I tightened my grip on the handle.

“I do,” I whispered. “I need to.”

I lifted the first shovel of earth and let it fall into the grave. The soil landed softly across the white cloth then another and another. The tears continued to fall but I didn't stop. Each shovelful felt like I was saying goodbye all over again.

When the grave was finally filled, I planted the shovel firmly into the ground. My fingers tightened around the wooden handle until my knuckles turned white.

I stared at the fresh mound of earth.

“I don't know who took you from me,” I whispered, my voice low but steady. “I don't know why they did it... but I swear... I will find every single person responsible.”

I slowly wiped away my tears.

“And when I do... I'll make them pay tenfold.”

I remained kneeling beside my father's grave long after Dante quietly returned to the farmhouse. The wind stirred the wildflowers I had placed there, carrying the rich scent of damp soil and crushed petals.

I couldn't stop staring at the simple wooden cross.

THOMAS HART

"Farewell, Dad," I whispered.

Eventually, I pushed myself to my feet on numb legs and brushed the dirt from my jeans. My body felt hollow, as though someone had reached inside me and taken everything that mattered, leaving behind nothing but an empty shell.

Every step back toward the house felt heavier than the last.

The moment I reached for the doorknob, I heard the distant roar of engines shattered the quiet.

I frowned. Three black SUVs sped down the dirt road and stopped directly in front of the farmhouse. The doors opened almost immediately and the first person to step out was Harold Briggs—the acting town head. He was a short man with a heavy, bulging stomach whose smile never reached his cold eyes.

Behind him came Sheriff Collins and two deputies, all of them looking strangely uncomfortable.

A knot formed in my stomach. Something was very wrong.

Harold adjusted his jacket before offering me a smile that looked more like mockery than sympathy.

"My condolences, Miss Hart."

I folded my arms.

"What do you want?"

"Oh?" He chuckled. "Straight to business, I see. I appreciate that."

"I asked you a question."

Harold sighed dramatically.

"I heard about Thomas." His gaze shifted toward my father's fresh grave. "Such a tragedy." He paused for a moment before he continued.

"Your father was a good man, but life moves on, Ava. We all have to be practical."

"I don't understand," I said slowly.

"You will."

He pulled a thick folder from beneath his arm.

"As the acting town administrator, I've reviewed the ownership documents for this property."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"Everything, I'm afraid." He said as he opened the folder with deliberate slowness. "Your father never officially registered an heir or transferred ownership."

I blinked as the color drained from my face.

"What?"