Dane glanced at the somber gathering, all dark suits and dresses; he shouldn’t have come. As the ceremony finished he approached the broken couple, crumpled together in their grief.
“Mrs and Mr Bowen, I’m so sorry.”
He’d expected harsh words, a slap even. Their response was worse: they pushed past him and left, like he didn’t exist.
Grief mingled with guilt. He’d been too drunk to drive, she’d told him to slow down. “I should’ve died too.”
“Should’ve? You did.”
Startled, Dane looked up. A shadowed form stood before him in the suddenly dark cemetery.
“I’ve come to collect you.”