72 Unmarked grave

It's peaceful.

The sky is clear. The air is crisp and clean. The sun is out but it's not hot. Damon can even say that the day is perfect.

He hates it. What's the use of a perfect day when the person who deserves it the most isn't around to appreciate it?

A slight breeze ruffles the leaves of the weeping willow nearby. It's a pretty thing, with its drooping branches that greet him every time he visits. This time is no exception.

As he stops before the tree, Damon silently thanks the weeping willow for watching over his mom all this time, protecting her and shading her from the sun.

"I'm here, Mom," he says but it's not him speaking. The words are coming from his mouth but it feels distant.

He looks to the right when he feels that his hand is being squeezed, and then he sees Heath standing by his side.

"I'm here as well, Auntie, " he greets the grave below them, a small smile on his face. "How have you been?"