Shattered Illusions: Love, Lies, and Redemption

Lizzie couldn't persuade the man, growing both frantic and furious. Eventually, she let go, her voice tinged with shame and annoyance.

"Suit yourself! Kneel if you want, get soaked if you want, I don't care anymore!"

With those harsh words, she turned around, forcing herself to stride down the hill.

A gust of night wind blew past, followed by the distant rumble of thunder.

Lizzie wrapped her arms around herself, turning back to glance at him.

The man stood unmoving, his posture straight and dignified, not at all disheveled. It was as if he was standing in solemn vigil, ready to transform into another headstone to protect his child. Feeling uneasy, Lizzie bit her lip and averted her gaze, descending the steps.

She thought to herself that Remington wasn't foolish. Once she was gone, without anyone watching over him, he'd eventually get up and leave before the rain started pouring down.

At that moment, Remington glanced back at her retreating figure, his brow furrowing slightly. Watching her disappear, he turned back to the headstone adorned with Daisy's photograph. "Your mom was scared of the dark and ghosts, I wonder if she'd be scared now, being away."

He sighed, knowing once he'd spoken those words, he wouldn't rise to escort her down the hill.

Looking at Daisy again, his lips curved into a small smile.

"Son, your mom called me 'brother' again just now, you heard that, right? I knew she couldn't let go of the past."

"Little buddy, it's really up to you this time..."

Before Remington could finish, another clap of thunder lit up half the sky, illuminating Daisy's toothless, radiant smile on the headstone.

Leaning forward, Remington gently tapped the cheek of the child on the headstone.

"Mischief-maker!"

Meanwhile, Lizzie, with her head bowed, quickened her pace.This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.

It was late, and the cemetery was deserted.

Approaching the exit, she finally saw someone.

It was Mr. Jackson, the cemetery caretaker she'd met earlier. He approached her, surprised to see her alone.

"It looks like it's going to rain soon. Why are you by yourself, Mrs. Dashiell? Where's Mr. Dashiell?"

Seeing someone eased Lizzie's anxiety, but a different kind of worry took over.

She forced a smile at Mr. Jackson, pleading, "He's still up there, refusing to come down. Do you have an umbrella or a raincoat I could take to him?"

Mr. Jackson's demeanor remained calm, as if it was not surprising to hear Remington was still up there.

"Of course, of course, follow me. I'll get one for you."

Grateful, Lizzie followed him.

Mr. Jackson mumbled along the way, "Mr. Dashiell visits the young master every week, regardless of the weather, sometimes staying very late. He personally takes care of the weeds around the young master's grave. Such devotion to a child is rafe..."

"Are you close with him?" Lizzie asked.

"Oh, Mrs. Dashiell, that's funny. What position do hold, and what position does Mr. Dashiell hold? It's

laughable to talk about closeness However, about four months ago, Mr. Dashiell came to the cemetery alone, ended up sitting by the grave drinking until he was drunk.

In the middle of winter, he caught a severe fever at midnight without even realizing. I found him and, with a buddy, helped him down the hill to the hospital.

Since then, Mr. Dashiell has been

giving me a little extra every month, asking me to talk to the young

master at his grave every day, so he wouldn't be lonely. That's why Mr. Dashiell is a bit more polite to me, that's all."

Hearing all this, Lizzie felt her heart being tugged and torn even more.

Four months ago, that was right after she had left.

Back then, she had just returned to her family, under the meticulous care of her grandparents and Jerome Madden, away from the place of sorrow, and she was recovering quickly.