Now, she walked the cemetery path, chrysanthemums clutched in her hand. At his grave, she collapsed, tears spilling freely.
As the cold crept in, she realized her phone was missing. Searching for shelter, she spotted a nearby mausoleum. She slipped inside, murmuring, “I just need to rest.”
Then—buzzing. A phone, not hers, vibrated on the stone floor.
She answered. A man’s voice: “Hi! That’s my phone—I lost it yesterday.”
“I’m in the cemetery,” she said weakly.
“I was working there. Must’ve dropped it.”
“I wasn’t feeling well…”
Her vision blurred. The phone slipped from her hand.
Then—darkness.
