Morning light softened the rows of headstones as Ellen approached, damp grass brushing her shoes. Her son’s grave looked different—cleaner, the marble bright, and the flowers turned upright as if someone had arranged them. She frowned, crouching closer. The soil was smooth and unbroken. Someone had cleaned the grave.
She spotted the caretaker raking near the fence and called out. “Did you tidy this one?” He looked up, puzzled. “No, ma’am. We just mow the grass; nothing else.” Ellen thanked him and walked back slowly, her heartbeat oddly loud. Why would someone disturb her son’s resting place? Ellen felt chilled by the thought.