The Weight of Her Name

As I sat before her grave, the weight of silence pressed down on me. My cheeks burned, flushed with memories and heartache, as my pulse thudded heavy in my chest. I closed my eyes-just for a moment-and there she was.

Evelyn.

A smile crept across my face, soft and aching. I could almost hear her laugh in the rustle of the leaves, feel her presence in the air around me. Then a cool breeze swept across my face, soothing the heat in my skin, grounding me.

But when I opened my eyes, I froze.

She was standing there.

Right in front of me.

For a second, I forgot how to breathe. My mouth parted but no sound came. My fingers curled into fists, nails biting into my palms as confusion and disbelief tangled in my chest.

Was I dreaming? Hallucinating? Had grief finally broken me?

"Evelyn?" I whispered, the name escaping before I could stop it.

The girl blinked, startled, and then-she smiled. That same gentle curve of the lips, those familiar dimples that tore through my soul.

"I'm Jude," she said softly, like she didn't want to scare me. "Aunt Clair says I look just like my mother."