The Grave of a Fantasy

ROMAN

"You faked a pregnancy."

The words hung in the morning air, heavy as the fog clinging to the cemetery grounds. I watched Seraphina's face, searching for any sign of remorse, any flicker of shame. There was none.

"It wasn't just a lie." My voice remained low, controlled despite the rage burning in my chest. "You made me mourn a child who never existed."

Her tears—perfectly timed as always—began to fall. I'd seen this performance too many times to be moved by it.

"I was desperate, Roman." She reached for my arm. I stepped back. "You were slipping away from me."

"Slipping away?" I laughed, the sound sharp against the stillness of the cemetery. "I was never yours to lose, Seraphina."

The headstones around us stood as silent witnesses to her unraveling lies. My father's grave, where I'd come seeking clarity, now seemed like the perfect place for this final reckoning.

"That's not true," she insisted, her voice rising. "You promised me once. When we were young—"