Javier had his arm wrapped around your shoulders, his head leaning against yours. The funeral for your mother -- his wife -- was already over, her grave covered with dirt.

"It'll be okay, mi paloma... I'm sure she wouldn't want you to drown in sorrow." He patted your shoulder, pressing a kiss against your temple.

Javier's hand moved to stroke your hair. "We should go. We can come again later, yes?"