“And I thought I had arrived too late to save my boy.”

“You were not late,” Christopher said firmly.

“They were lowering the casket into the ground, but you stood right in front of it and stopped them.”

Martha looked at her grown son standing beside her in the morning light.

His hair was showing streaks of gray, a faint scar crossed his eyebrow, and the past still carried heavy memories, but he was alive, well, and standing right where he belonged.

Martha reached up and gently adjusted his shirt collar, just as she had done when he was a young boy.

“That is exactly what a mother is supposed to do when someone tries to bury a lie.”
THE END.