“I need to see him,” I said, desperation clawing at my chest. “His room—”

“There’s nothing left,” she replied, closing the door. Not slamming it. Just closing it. Slowly. Final.

The deadbolt clicked.

I stood there, stunned.

A year.

I learned my father was gone standing on his porch like a stranger.

I don’t remember leaving. Only walking. Until my legs burned. Until the sentence stopped echoing.

Eventually, I reached the only place that made sense.

The cemetery.

Tall pines loomed like guards. The iron gate creaked open.

I didn’t have flowers. I just needed proof.

Before I reached the office, a voice stopped me.

“Looking for someone?”