Approaching him cautiously, she asked softly,
— Excuse me, is this the grave of a relative or someone you knew?
The man, a bit flustered, looked at her with confusion. Emily clarified her question.
— I mean, are you tending to this grave because it’s a family member or a friend?
To which the man replied that it wasn’t a relative of his.
— The director asked me to handle it,
— he explained, continuing his work. He added that one of the relatives had called and requested a cleanup.
The person couldn’t come themselves since they lived far away in another city. The woman nodded, indicating she understood. After cleaning the blood and dirt from her knees, Emily snapped a photo of the unfamiliar headstone on her phone.
Then she stood up and, watching her step carefully, made her way along the path to the gates. In the end, she missed the noon train and had to wait for the next one. At a small kiosk near the station, she bought a bottle of water and found a shady spot to rest a bit.
By the time the woman finally got home, it was already seven in the evening. She was glad that she didn’t have work the next day and could sleep in a little. Before starting dinner, Emily first attended to her scratched knees.
She thoroughly disinfected the cuts with antiseptic to prevent any infection. Afterward, she prepared some pasta and reheated the meatballs left over from the day before. Once Emily finished eating, she decided to look up information about the woman whose grave had been so neglected.
The headstone bore the name Elizabeth Marie Thompson, but it lacked birth and death dates, which made the search much harder. She turned to the internet to hunt for details about Elizabeth Marie. Opening her laptop, she typed the full name into search engines, hoping to uncover something about the person whose headstone she had seen at the cemetery that day.
She had no specific goal in mind; it was just curiosity driving her. Among the search results, Emily found only two people with matching names. The first was far too young, just twenty years old, and didn’t have the last name Thompson.
The second had passed away twenty-five years ago. So, it seemed likely that the abandoned grave belonged to her. According to the information, Elizabeth Marie was born on March 1, 1906, and lived to be eighty-three.
The woman couldn’t help but smile wryly, realizing that at the time of Elizabeth Marie’s death, she hadn’t even been born yet. Based on Wikipedia entries, which she trusted as reliable, Elizabeth Marie was a renowned singer, famous in her circles for performing heartfelt ballads. Emily managed to find several photographs depicting various stages of the deceased’s life.
In one, a young Lizzie gracefully tilted her head on stage; in another, she was older, standing beside her little daughter; and in a third, she was captured with both her daughter and son. Young Lizzie looked truly enchanting—a delicate figure, dark hair styled elegantly, and a snow-white dress that accentuated her slender form perfectly.
Emily sighed with a touch of bitterness, acknowledging that with her size fourteen frame, she’d never experience such lightness and grace. Back in school, Emily and her close friend Sarah had tried to lose weight together. Those efforts lasted until Emily fainted right in the middle of math class one day.
She still remembered the frightened look on her mother’s face as she rushed into the school. After that, she never attempted dieting again. Emily took a deep breath and pondered why some people seemed to get everything in life, while others received so much less.
Elizabeth Marie, resting in that forgotten grave, apparently had it all: beauty, a remarkable voice, fragility, and even two children. Emily, on the other hand, was stuck in a routine job at the library, struggled with extra weight, had an unsettled personal life, and a very small circle of friends. Emily’s only true confidante was Sarah.
And a year ago, her mom had passed away, which had completely shattered her spirits. That evening, after tidying up the kitchen and washing up, she chose to go to bed early to regain some strength.
The week flew by in a blur, and Saturday rolled around again. Emily headed back to her mother’s grave. In her bag, which she placed on the train floor and held steady with her feet, were a few seedling bushes and a large bottle of water for watering.
«Here you go, Mom, now everything will look beautiful. I think you’d love this,» she thought to herself, glancing at her purchases. After thoroughly washing the headstone, planting, and watering the fresh flowers, Emily walked over to that same neglected grave.
Though the trash had been removed, the site still appeared unkempt and forlorn. Emily couldn’t help but recall the young Lizzie on stage and felt a profound pity for her. She considered that her life probably wasn’t as serene as it appeared in those warm, vintage photographs—at least, not entirely.
She meticulously cleaned the headstone, scrubbing away layers of dirt, and uncovered the engraved birth and death dates on the stone. This fully confirmed her suspicions. The grave indeed belonged to that very Elizabeth Marie Thompson.
Emily diligently weeded the small plot around the grave, removing every unwanted plant and leaving only a neat carpet of green grass. Then she brought over the remaining flower seedlings, which she had originally intended for her mother’s site. Stepping back from Elizabeth Marie’s grave, Emily surveyed her work with satisfaction.
The gravesite no longer looked so abandoned and desolate. Now, the tidied area radiated warmth and care. Six months had passed since then, and every Saturday, Emily continued to visit the cemetery to tend to the graves.
Her care now extended to two sites—her mother’s and the singer Elizabeth Marie’s. Even when it was time to replace the wreaths, Emily bought two at once for both graves, showing her respect and dedication.
— Emily, hello!
— a familiar and achingly dear voice suddenly called out.
— Mom, is that really you? How is this possible?
— Emily exclaimed in astonishment.
— It’s simple, my dear. You’re dreaming,
— her mom replied with a warm smile.
— Oh, I see. Did you come to tell me that I’m going to die soon?
— Emily asked anxiously.
— No, of course not. What nonsense!
— her mom laughed softly.
— It’s way too early for you to think about that. I just wanted to pass on an important message.
I’ve made a good friend here named Lizzie. She’s thrilled with how you’ve been caring for her grave and wants to thank you sincerely.
— Thank you? In what way?
— Emily responded, wary of what she’d heard.
— I’m not sure exactly. She’s sent you a gift,
her mom paused briefly and added.
— And in that gift, there’s a husband, two children, and a cozy little house by the sea.
— What are you saying? How could that be?
Emily was utterly bewildered.
— I don’t know all the details myself. But Lizzie said you’ll receive this gift very soon. Goodbye now, my love. I have to go back.
I wish you all the happiness and well-being in the world. Her mom embraced her with a loving gaze and simply faded away.
— Mom, wait! Please, Mom, don’t go! Stay with me, my dear!
— Emily cried out, reaching forward.
But her mother was already gone, leaving only the memory of her gentle smile. Emily woke up with a start, her heart pounding wildly, her nightgown soaked in sweat.
To calm down, she headed to the shower. Trying to recall the dream’s details, the woman wondered if she’d truly seen her mother and actually heard those words about Elizabeth Marie, whose grave was in that overlooked corner of the cemetery. The notion of a gift from the beyond seemed almost fantastical to her.
A house by the sea? It was hard to believe it could be real. Doubts and thoughts about the peculiar dream lingered with Emily throughout the week. Finally, Saturday arrived, and as usual, she made her way to the cemetery to visit her mom’s grave.
When the woman approached her mother’s burial place, her eyes were drawn to a magnificent bouquet of fresh flowers lying on Elizabeth Marie’s grave. It was quite unexpected, and Emily froze, looking around for anyone who might have left it. Seeing no one, she sat on the bench as always and began recounting the week’s events to her mother.
Lost in her narrative, she didn’t notice a tall stranger approaching her.
— Excuse me, could you tell me where I might find a container and some water to put these flowers in?
— the man asked with a hint of uncertainty.
Without hesitation, Emily handed him her water bottle.