IMOGEN'S POV
The cemetery felt different now. Quieter. Three weeks had passed since we buried Talia, and the media circus had finally moved on to other scandals. Portland's conscience had been satisfied. They'd shown up for the funeral in droves, filling the small chapel and spilling out onto the grass. Politicians gave speeches about justice and community healing. The mayor laid a wreath. Local news stations covered every moment.
Then they all went home and forgot about her.
But I hadn't forgotten.
I knelt beside Talia's headstone, brushing away the fallen leaves that had gathered around the base. The marble was simple, clean. Talia Mercer. Beloved daughter. Dreams interrupted, never forgotten. The Sutton foundation had paid for it, just like they'd promised. The words weren't much, but they were true.
