For his seventieth birthday, Leo returned to his home town.
The town had gentrified; little remained of what he’d left at fifteen. He was glad of that. He checked into an upscale hotel, ate dinner at the hotel restaurant, then relaxed until dark.
The old cemetery was sad and unkempt, but the white marble grave marker gleamed in the moonlight. For the next several hours, Leo’s mallet and chisel removed every trace of his parents from that hunk of rock.
Later, while showering, he could swear that the round, purple-brown burn scars on his arms and chest seemed to be fading.