Trent lowered me to my feet, and I clung to him for a moment until I regained my balance and was sure I wouldn't throw up. In addition to the gravestone, a marble bench with immaculately kept flower beds on either side occupied the space.
This wasn't just a grave - it was a shrine. It was breathtakingly peaceful, in a morbid sort of way. The massive, marble stone loomed in front of me, and I focused on the engraved name.
Emma Masterson
April 1891 - January 1915
"Emma was my mother," Trent said softly, hands tucked in his pockets.
"I'm sorry." I looped my arm through his.
He nodded but didn't make any other movement. "She was twenty-four when Jax and I were born. In that day and age, that was old for a woman to be having her first child. My biological father thought something was wrong with her." With a disgusted huff, he shook his head. "He was a strict man, always demanding obedience and perfection. He was impossible to please."