Raindrops fell from the sky nonstop, and a few got into the young boy's eyes, but he didn't notice. His gaze was fixed on the newly erected headstone as the grey marble turned darker with each drop.
Isabella: The world's best gardener.
Just a few days ago, he and his mother had been weeding the garden, their fingers caked with soil as they worked to remove the invaders. Now she was dead. His father said it had been an accident, and she didn't even make it to the hospital. He somewhat blamed himself if he had stopped her from going out that day, if he had made her stay home a little longer, maybe, just maybe, she would still be here. He kept replaying that day in his head, wondering what he could have done that could have changed the outcome.
"Carl." His father's voice brought him back to the present. "It's time to go."
