The thud of leather boots on autumn leaves was a familiar, mournful rhythm for Robert. Each step across the leaf-strewn ground of the cemetery was a step further into the six years of grief that had consumed him since Lisa, his Lisa, was gone.

He knelt by her headstone, a bouquet of fresh roses, vibrant and alive, contrasting sharply with the fading ones already there. "Six years, sweetheart," he whispered, tracing the cold inscription of her name. "Six long years without you, and I can't think of anything else to say but… 'I'm sorry.'"

The tears came, hot and stinging, as they always did. He tried to hold them back, but they flowed freely, a constant reminder of the day his world shattered. "I pray every single day that I could go back, and if indeed a life needed to be taken, it should've been mine."

He talked about his new hobbies—painting, reading adventure stories, anything to escape the nightmare of reality. "Sometimes I daydream about us being the main characters in our own story of adventure and thrill. Maybe that would be something worth documenting. You never know."

As he rose to leave, a misplaced twig caught his foot. He stumbled, hitting his head against a nearby headstone, sending him into instant darkness. When he came to, a throbbing pain behind his eyes, he saw a name etched into the stone he'd collided with: "Mia Arlene Martel."

"Aunt Mia?" he mumbled, the name a shock. He touched the stone, feeling a rough carving beneath the dust. A hidden message. With a pocket knife, he carefully revealed the inscription: 'Sixth, Seventh Driveway, Luther Street.' A location. A sudden, unexpected turn in his long, aimless journey.