I knelt before Violet's headstone, my hands raw and stinging from scrubbing the black oil from its surface. Despite Gregory's help and several buckets of soapy water, faint stains remained in the porous marble—like shadows that refused to be banished.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Monroe," Gregory said, setting down his brush. "This is the best we can do tonight. Maybe in daylight..."
I traced my finger over Violet's name, now clean but somehow tainted. "Thank you for helping me."
He nodded and gathered the cleaning supplies. "I'll check those surveillance tapes first thing in the morning."
When he left, I was alone with my daughter again. The cemetery had fallen silent except for the occasional drip of water from soaked tree branches. My body ached from the fight with Natalie, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the hollow ache in my chest.
"I failed you again," I whispered to the cold stone. "I couldn't even protect your resting place."
