The gravestone stared back at me as if it were Her, alive again and before my eyes. No name, no date, just the one word: Marriot. I thought of a thousand other reasons for it to have that word and no others. I even looked around in the weeds and other stones to see if maybe they all had such a word. But no luck. It was only Her gravestone.

Cool, swampy waters engulfed me as I sat, legs crossed, by Her stone. “Hi, Esmeralda,” I said, trying to fight the feeling of tears creeping into my eyes.

The gravestone itself spoke back: “Marriot,” it whispered. My name. Her last word as she died on the hospital bed, a look of terrible fear in her eyes. I was unable to save her.