The cemetery air clung damp and heavy as you approached—again. You knew you shouldn't. Knew she still carried pieces of him in the hollows of her collarbones, in the way she sometimes woke crying a name that wasn't yours. 

But then she'd press against you in sleep, her scent—jasmine and salt and something unbearably hers—wrapping around you like a spell. And God help you, you'd stayed. 

"You didn't have to come." Her voice cracked like dried rose petals underfoot. 

You watched her fingers trace the carved letters of Nabu's name, her engagement ring glinting in the weak sunlight. A relic. A shackle. A promise she wasn't ready to break. 

"I know," you lied, stepping closer. The grass whispered beneath your boots. 

She didn't push you away when you knelt beside her. Progress. 

"He'd hate this," she murmured. "Me...frozen like this."

Let me thaw you, your traitorous heart begged. But the dead cast long shadows, and hers still wore Nabu's face. 

So you offered silence instead. A placeholder. A prayer. 

Waiting for the day her tears might finally be for you.