As I walked away, I heard him on the phone. "Rod, send a gift to Niana’s mother and tell her we’ll have a grand wedding in two days."
But it was too late. I was done howling at the moon for a love that was never mine.
Before I reached the cemetery gates, a chilling call came from the cemetery manager. The voice on the other end was frantic, laden with urgency: someone was digging at my mother's grave. The words struck me like a thunderclap. Without a second thought, I spun on my heel and sprinted toward the graveyard, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I pushed myself harder, faster.
My mother had been the embodiment of kindness, a beacon of warmth and love in my life. She gave everything she had to those around her, never asking for anything in return. Even when the doctors delivered the grim news of her heart disease due to having no mate, she remained selfless, refusing to let the shadow of death darken my life.
"Niana," she had said, her voice steady despite the pain, "Don’t engrave my name on the tombstone. Just write, 'May my daughter live a safe and happy life.' That’s all I want for you." Her words were etched into my soul, a final wish I had vowed to honor.