Roxanne Blackwood again?

When the car screeched to a halt, the vast iron gate outside caught my eye. It stood with its mighty height, holding the people who were gone behind its wings. Eerie silence echoed throughout the area.

I turned to Syl. He sat beside me with my hand in his firm grip. With tense shoulders, his cold blue orbs were set in the distance.

I squeezed his hand. Closing his eyes, he let out a sigh.

Without saying a word, he got out of the car and I followed. Securing my hand in his big one, he then guided me through the iron gate. The graveyard where the late De Sylvanos were laid.

With every step, his stance grew rigid. The separation from his family had affected him more than he showed the world.

Once we were before a grave with white tombstone, he stopped. Two more lay beside it. His grip on my hand tightened.

'Rosalin Mary De Sylvano.

A woman with a kind heart and beautiful soul.

June 1977

September 2013'

His mother's grave. Situated beside, were Josef De Sylvano and Enrique De Sylvan