nothing but air and my own shattered hopes. We buried an empty coffin that day, a symbolic gesture that provided no closure, only a deepening sense of absence. The world moved on, but I remained frozen in that moment of loss, a mother without a child, a mourner without a grave to visit.
Yet, the hardest part wasn’t the funeral or the empty grave. It was returning to a house that still echoed with her presence. Every corner held a memory, but none was as painful as the sight of
