Lizzie couldn't persuade the man, growing both frantic and furious. Eventually, she let go, her voice tinged with shame and annoyance.

"Suit yourself! Kneel if you want, get soaked if you want, I don't care anymore!"

With those harsh words, she turned around, forcing herself to stride down the hill.

A gust of night wind blew past, followed by the distant rumble of thunder.

Lizzie wrapped her arms around herself, turning back to glance at him.

The man stood unmoving, his posture straight and dignified, not at all disheveled. It was as if he was standing in solemn vigil, ready to transform into another headstone to protect his child. Feeling uneasy, Lizzie bit her lip and averted her gaze, descending the steps.

She thought to herself that Remington wasn't foolish. Once she was gone, without anyone watching over him, he'd eventually get up and leave before the rain started pouring down.

At that moment, Remington glanced back at her retreating figure, his brow furrowing slightly. Watching her disappear, he turned back to the headstone adorned with Daisy's photograph. "Your mom was scared of the dark and ghosts, I wonder if she'd be scared now, being away."

He sighed, knowing once he'd spoken those words, he wouldn't rise to escort her down the hill.

Looking at Daisy again, his lips curved into a small smile.

just now, you heard

it's really up to

half the sky, illuminating Daisy's toothless, radiant smile on

the cheek of the child on

"Mischief-maker!"

Lizzie, with her head bowed, quickened her

and the cemetery was

exit, she finally

the cemetery caretaker she'd met earlier. He approached

soon. Why are you by

Lizzie's anxiety, but a different kind

Jackson, pleading, "He's still up there, refusing to come down.

if it was not surprising to hear Remington was still up

course, follow me.

Grateful, Lizzie followed him.

the weather, sometimes staying very late. He

with him?"

Mrs. Dashiell, that's funny. What position do hold, and what position does Mr. Dashiell

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