The rain poured heavily, soaking through Alex's clothes, but he barely noticed. His hands, caked in mud, worked tirelessly, shoveling the wet earth aside. Each movement was slow, deliberate—each handful of dirt a weight pressing against his chest.
Elizabeth lay beside him, motionless.
The night was dark, the only light coming from the occasional flicker of lightning splitting the sky. Thunder rumbled overhead, a distant echo of the storm raging inside him. His breath came in shallow gasps as exhaustion clawed at his limbs, but he didn't stop. Not until she was buried.
Alex barely felt the cold wind cutting through his soaked clothes. His fingers trembled, raw and aching from digging, but he forced them to keep moving. The hole wasn't deep enough yet, deep enough to put her in.
