Mary covered her mouth, tears instantly springing to her eyes. Peter felt the blood drain from his face. It wasn’t the face of a stranger. It wasn’t a secret girlfriend. It was a face they hadn’t seen in over ten years.
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“It’s… it’s her,” Peter stammered, his anger melting into pure shock. The posture, the way she held her head to the side—it was unmistakable. They were looking at a ghost. A family member who had vanished from their lives long before Michael had died.
“She’s alive,” Mary sobbed. “She’s here.” They didn’t need to discuss what to do next. They didn’t call the police. They didn’t call the cemetery office. They grabbed their car keys and drove. They knew she would likely be gone, but they had to try.
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