She's the figure dressed in the black trench coat standing in the middle of the cemetery, alone.
As she observed the place and realized how alone she was there - with only a few people visiting the place, Lucy wondered how many of them would call her a witch and how many would call her a ghost.
Reasonable people don't come to cemeteries at sundown, not if they can avoid it. No good can come from being around the dead so late.
When she gazed down at the stone before her - once she was satisfied with her loneliness, a wave of gratitude filled her chest, even if it was bittersweet.
Lorena. Wife. Iris. Daughter.
The soft tug in her lips had no pain. The two women beneath this ground would never grasp how much they meant to her, how many times she wished them alive.
The unshed tears in her eyes held more than grief. A grief that didn't entirely belong to her, today she stood there for more than herself.
Garcia. Husband.
Lucy went down on one knee and laid three bouquets on the grass. Touched the cold grey stone. She would have lit candles, had she not had so little time to spend here, it was a miracle she had even managed to get to this place.
The historian wondered what could be harder dying or being left behind. She had seen the ones left behind, had been one and not only once. It was hard enough and she hoped that to leave was easier than that. Wanted to have this comfort.
How do you let go of someone who had become so close? That sometimes knew you better than you knew yourself?
Not the for the first time she understood why he had been in such a state when she met him in São Paulo. And also not for the first time, she related to his thoughts.
How much easier would it be to just go too? What is the point of winning the war when you've already lost everything else?
A friend, a lover, family… Her peace.
Her fingers curled a bit. She didn't realize she was sobbing until she heard herself.
It comes and it goes in waves. Grief. Some days it's a thought, others it's your whole being. Time is not the point at all, it assures no progress, no healing, only that you'll figure out how to handle it - which could be poorly or not.
"I'm sorry" she muttered, "I'm sorry"
Lucy faced the soil and took a deep breath, stood up and glanced around, wiped her cheeks clean of tears.
"I love you" she swallowed, "I'll find a way, even if you don't remember" she nodded, "You chose them, you chose me. I choose your life, your happiness" the brunette looked at her shoes without seeing them, "You made me promise to let go, even if you never did. Well, I'm keeping my promise, Garcia. I'll let go, you'll find them again, this war will end and you'll be with them. I promise" a moment, "I swear"
A step back and her gaze lingered on the stone. Her next words were mouthed, not even a whisper coming out through the knot on her throat. "I love you… Goodbye"
Lucy walked away, her footing stronger than she felt, but her mind made up. The question now wasn't who was going to let her, but who was going to stop her. She would get that cold grey stone to disappear from history or die trying.