We huddle together on the bench, waiting to see if she will appear.
The markings on the gravestone are now impossible to read, eroded by rain and five years of waiting. Every anniversary we are hopeful of her visit, a sign of her forgiveness that could finally set us free.
Just as we are about to leave we hear another presence – a car pulling up nearby. We see her, flowers in hand, searching for our grave.
She finds the bench and we shuffle up to make some room, despite having no need to do so.
A 100 word story based on the photo prompt from the Friday Fictioneers.