No one ate. No one spoke.
The man slowly released his grip, his hand shaking.
He stared at the ring again, closer this time—like reality itself was starting to break apart.
“That ring… was buried with my wife,” he said again, but weaker now. “I saw it.”
The boy finally leaned forward.
His voice was low.
Controlled.
Almost too calm.
“Did you?” he asked.
Silence collapsed over the room.
The man froze.
Something in his memory flickered—details he had buried deeper than the coffin itself. A closed casket. A rushed ceremony. Questions he never asked.
The boy stood up slowly.
And added one final line:
“Then you should ask yourself… why you were never allowed to see her face one last time.”
The man’s breath stopped.
Because for the first time in five years…
he wasn’t sure what he had actually buried.
