Chapter No: 02

The Flowers He Hated

Elena's P.O.V.

The cemetery should have been empty; instead, I found flowers.

Again.

I stopped halfway down the path and stared at the collection surrounding Ronan's grave.

Lilies. Roses. Wildflowers. Someone had even left a wreath.

A wreath! Who brought a wreath to a cemetery in the middle of July?

I sighed.

"You're attracting attention from beyond the grave."

The breeze stirred the flowers. Not a single one looked like something Ronan would have chosen. If anything, he would have complained about all of them.

Especially the lilies.

The thought made me smile despite myself, just for a moment. Then the smile faded, because memories were cruel that way. They arrived looking like gifts and left feeling like wounds.

I stepped closer to the grave.

The flowers looked fresh, which meant someone had probably visited that morning, maybe several people. It still surprised me sometimes how many people had loved him, not the dramatic kind of love written in books, the quiet kind, the kind built over years.

Neighbors. Friends. Family friends.

People who still stopped me in grocery stores to tell me stories about Ronan, stories I'd already heard a hundred times, stories I never asked for, stories I secretly treasured.

I knelt and began removing the flowers, one by one, very carefully.

I never threw them away, because that felt disrespectful. Instead, I placed them beside the nearby memorial bench. Someone else would appreciate them, someone who wasn't Ronan. Because Ronan hated flowers.

Especially lilies.

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it as the memory followed.

"Why are there so many flowers at funerals?"

"Because people bring them."

"But why?"

"Because it's tradition."

"Tradition is stupid."

"That's your argument?"

"I'm just saying, if I die, don't waste money on flowers."

"Good thing you're impossible to kill."

The memory ended there.

Abruptly.

Just like they always did, with a heavy feeling of our unfinished future hanging between us.

I swallowed hard to get rid of the knot that had slowly started forming in my throat.

My laughter disappeared as I felt a shadow cross the grass.

"Afternoon, Elena."

I looked up.

Sheriff Thomas Walker stood several feet away, his hat tucked beneath one arm. His weathered face was lined with concern. He looked the same as he had every time I'd seen him during the past year.

Tired and Guilty.

The guilt wasn't his fault, at least I knew that, but it lingered anyway.

After all, he had been the one who knocked on my door, the one who told me Ronan was gone, the one who stood beside me while my entire world collapsed.

"Afternoon, Sheriff."

He nodded toward the flowers.

"People still stop by."

"I noticed."

A moment of silence stretched between us. The sheriff shifted his weight uncomfortably, and I knew exactly what that look meant. Everyone in town wore it around me. The expression people got when they were trying to decide whether to acknowledge grief or ignore it. And if I am being truthful, neither option ever felt right.

"You hear that howl last night?" he asked suddenly.

My stomach tightened.

The howl! The sound that I'd heard yesterday? The sound that I'd heard a year ago?

"I heard something."

The sheriff glanced toward the forest. The tree line seemed darker today, yet somehow more distant.

"Some folks still think those woods are cursed."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Since when do you believe local ghost stories?"

"I don't."

His answer came too quickly. Then he sighed.

"But I've worked this town a long time."

He looked back toward the trees.

"Sometimes people hear things they can't explain."

The words lingered.

Something about the way he'd said them made the hairs along my arms rise. I was about to question him about it, but before I could ask, he reached towards the folder tucked beneath his arm.

My pulse quickened immediately as I recognized the paperwork.

Official documents.

Those meant only one thing. Closure. The word alone made something inside me tense.

The sheriff held out a sealed envelope.

"I stopped by your house this morning."

I didn't take it, not yet. Because somehow, I already knew; I knew exactly what was inside.

His expression softened.

"Elena..."

I hated that tone. The one people used when they thought they were helping. Slowly yet reluctantly, I accepted the envelope. The paper felt heavier than it should have.

"What's this?"

Neither of us pretended not to know.

"The final determination."

My fingers tightened around the envelope.

"No."

The sheriff exhaled quietly.

"The investigation is over."

The words hit harder than I expected, not because I was surprised, but because I wasn't. I'd known this was coming because everyone else had moved on months ago. The town had accepted the official story; the state had accepted it; the police had accepted it.

Only I remained.

Still standing in the ruins, still asking questions, still refusing to let go.

"Animal attack," I said flatly.

The sheriff's jaw tightened.

"That's the conclusion."

"Dog attack."

"Elena—"

"A dog attack killed a six-foot-four man?"

The words came out sharper than I intended. The sheriff didn't flinch, maybe because he'd heard the argument before, one too many times.

"It wasn't a dog."

My eyes narrowed.

"Then what was it?"

Silence.

The same silence I always received, the same silence that had haunted me for a year. Nobody knew, or nobody would say.

The sheriff rubbed the back of his neck.

"The evidence is what it is."

"No."

I looked toward the forest, toward the place where Ronan had died.

"Something happened out there."

He didn't answer. Maybe he couldn't; maybe there was no answer, or maybe that was the problem because the report explained nothing.

It never had.

I stared down at the envelope in my hands.

A final determination.

Case closed. End of story.

Except it wasn't, not for me.

Not yet.

The wind moved through the trees, whispering, almost like a warning.

The sheriff placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

The apology sounded genuine. It always did, but apologies couldn't bring people back. And they couldn't create answers where none existed.

I nodded once, not trusting myself to speak.

The sheriff hesitated, then finally turned and walked away. I watched him disappear down the path. The envelope remained in my hands. The cemetery had fallen silent again. Only the wind remained and the distant forest.

Slowly, I broke the seal and unfolded the papers.

The official report stared back at me.

Cause of death: Animal attack.

Case status: Closed.

My eyes moved lower. I scanned, searched, desperately looking for something.

Anything.

Maybe a reason. Maybe an explanation. Or maybe the truth.

Instead, I found the same empty answers I'd been reading for twelve months. The same contradictions, the same missing details and the same impossible conclusions.

My frustration flared and then suddenly stopped.

Something had caught my attention.

A gap.

Tiny. Easy to miss. But still there.

My eyes narrowed as I focused on the page numbers.

One.

Two.

Three.

Five.

I froze and turned the report over. Checked again, then again. My heartbeat began to pound.

Page four was missing.

Not lost. Not misplaced. Missing! Like it was purposefully removed. Deliberately.

My pulse quickened.

The grief that had filled my chest for a year shifted, now making room for something else, something dangerous, something relentless.

Suspicion.

I looked toward the forest. The trees stood motionless beneath the fading sunlight, keeping their secrets.

For now.

I folded the report carefully, very carefully, then slipped it into my bag. Because for the first time in months, I finally had something new.

A clue.

And whoever removed page four clearly hadn't wanted me to find it.